Above the Stars and under the Flames
by RangerFinn
Summary: Two night elf women are on two separate quests—one in search of family, the other in search of revenge. Will they find what they are looking for? If so, will they find it in the manner that they had anticipated? Follow their adventures as they journey across the world, facing fear, betrayal, and grief as they try to achieve what they have set out to do.
1. Chapter 1 - Folly of the Lost

(( Hello, everyone! This is my first fan fiction, so I'd like to say it's very nice to meet you all. =) Thanks for choosing my story! I do hope you enjoy it. The chapters are not necessarily all even (some are seven Word Document pages, others are only one and a half). They are based not off of length, but off of consistency and content. Hopefully this doesn't pose a problem! Feedback is appreciated. P.S., I don't own WoW. Thanks again, and happy reading. ))

Bangs erupted from all sides, ringing in the ears of those nearby. Cracking sounds filled the air, followed by even more monstrous booms. The occasional noise of raging flames could be heard all around.

And so too could the joyous tunes of laughter and music and song—for fireworks were exploding everywhere, and talented men and women were breathing multicolored fire, and such a gay spirit was abound. Fierce animals roared in a zoo nearby, while adventurers shot targets or fought for prizes in an arena. Vibrant colors were flashing everywhere, and broad smiles adorned the faces of countless visitors of all races. Dancing and joking and grinning, everyone participated in the revelry.

Everyone participated in the grand festival of the Darkmoon Faire.

Everyone except one.

Sitting on a small boulder, a lithe figure rested. Her skin was pale blue, and her ears were long; indigo hair was swept back into a ponytail, with bangs falling over her forehead. Shimmering midnight blue claw marks were tattooed across her eyes—three over each moonlit orb. Her face was buried in her hands, and it was obvious that she was extremely upset.

Garbed in a mystic's robes, an old gnoll hobbled up to place a gnarled hand on the woman's shoulder. "Lorithiel," he began in a rumbling voice. "I know the loss of your parents is hard. They were good people, and they loved you very much."

Lorithiel looked up and sniffled a bit, wiping at her face. "Oh, Sayge," she murmured, gazing up at him with tear-clouded eyes. "They did not even die valiantly. They were murdered by a band of savage criminals in the forest. There is no honor in that."

Sayge shook his head slowly. "There is every honor in your parents' deaths. They died in the land that they loved, where they felt comfortable with themselves. They were struck down by lying manipulators—that does not make them any less worthy of respect." This only warranted a small sob from Lorithiel.

The woman closed her eyes tight, letting the tears pour down her cheeks. "I didn't even ask to come here," she whispered hoarsely. "Look at the trash.. look at how they disrespect nature. My parents insisted I join them—after three thousand years of living happily with our people."

Sayge watched Lorithiel with genuine sorrow as well as hurt. "Perhaps it wasn't so happily after all, Lorithiel. Perhaps they had their own reasons." He breathed out a small sigh. ".. Besides, I.. wouldn't say you turned out so wrong, living here, with us?" he suggested, frowning a bit.

Lorithiel buried her face in her hands again, looking exasperated with herself. "Oh, Elune—Sayge, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean—"

Sayge held up a hand immediately. "No, Lorithiel. You do not need my forgiveness. I understand you are in pain—it is reasonable." He took a deep breath. "... Lorithiel, there is something I believe I need to tell you."

The woman looked up from her hands, peering at Sayge curiously. "What do you mean? What is it?" she inquired.

The gnoll turned his gaze out toward the ocean that sat relatively nearby. "Your parents and I were good friends, as you know. They.. told me things. I promised not to tell you, but.. I am certain it was their full intent to let you know. Were it not for this.. most recent turn of events, I am sure they would have told you themselves. But now.. it falls upon me to reveal the truth."

Lorithiel blinked and furrowed her eyebrows toward Sayge. "What...? What truth?"

"They truth that your parents were not _really_ your parents."

Lorithiel sat in dumb shock for a moment, then shook her head. "Surely, you jest," she replied, then immediately stood up and whirled around. "How dare you disrespect the memory of my beloved mother and father with uncouth jokes?"

Sayge looked slightly taken aback, and he raised his paws defensively. "It is no mere joke, Lorithiel. You know how close I was to your parents. They told me.. told me they found you in the forests of Ashenvale thousands of years ago as an infant, and you had been with them ever since. Fortunately, you bore similarities to them, so no questions were raised." He dropped his gaze downward. "I am so terribly sorry that I had to be the one to tell you. It would have been so much better for them to have been able to break the news themselves."

Lorithiel stood there for a few minutes, not speaking. The sounds of the festival around her began to fade out, and she processed these words in her head for some time. When she looked back up again, her eyes were surprisingly striking and serious. "Where am I from," she stated simply. It was not a question—no, there was no inclination at the end of the sentence. It was simply a statement—a flatly pronounced demand, as if the topic was not even worthy of a true "question."

Sayge sighed gently. "They say that they never found the true name of the village. They ran into a caravan of survivors during their travels; evidently, the village had been destroyed, and the men and women were fleeing. Your parents inquired as to the name of the village, and it was said to be called 'the Garden.'" He shook his head. "But when your parents journeyed all the way to Astranaar and asked about 'the Garden,' no one had the slightest of clue of what was being talked about."

Lorithiel narrowed her eyes skeptically. "How is that even possible?"

"Your parents asked the same question for some time, until they finally came to the conclusion that the villagers must have had their own name for their home, while the outside world referred to it as something completely different."

Lorithiel groaned in frustration. "Then there is almost no way of tracking down this village?"

Sayge frowned a bit. "You would have to be extremely lucky. You would need to find someone who lived there and knew the real name of the Garden, but without being able to ask the locals for any information, for they would not be able to answer. It is nigh impossible."

Lorithiel grimaced and folded her arms across her chest. ".. Then there is a way," she repeated slowly, then took a deep breath. "Well, then, I've no time to lose. I'd best be off."

Sayge looked dumbfounded. "You're leaving in search? Surely you aren't serious. There is no way—"

"There is a way, and I will find it," Lorithiel interrupted, flexing her shoulders. "And the sooner, the better. I had best pack my things. Make my excuses to Silas.. I am sure he wouldn't mind if I took a little.. vacation after such a loss as my own."

She paused, then flashed an amused grin his way. "Besides, what was that fortune you gave me on one of your little slips of paper? Hmm? 'Many a false step is made by standing still.'" She chuckled to herself, then straightened her back. "I have a family to find, Sayge, and I will not make _any_ false steps." She turned around abruptly and began making her way toward her tent, a certain new purpose in her step.

Sayge appeared flabbergasted. He stayed silent for a moment while Lorithiel made her departure, then called to her. "Be wary, Lorithiel Shaderunner! This quest you seek to complete.. it is dangerous—too dangerous for your own good! It.. it is a folly of the lost!"


	2. Chapter 2 - Memories

(( Hey again, sorry to interrupt your reading, I promise I'll be brief! In this chapter are the lyrics to a lullaby of my own creation. I'd like everyone to know that it's completely fine if you want to use it for your own purposes! I'm not saying that I'm Beethoven and that you're going to immediately fall head over heals for the song, but I like it, and I hope you do as well. If you do plan on using it, feel free to do so, but please make sure you're not claiming it as your own work. Thank you! ))

Winds whipped about, causing sand to rise into the air all around. Barren wasteland stretched for as far as the eye could see in all directions, aside from a single grove in the center, where life flourished and ponds twinkled with reflected moonlight.

A night elven woman gazed around, observing her surroundings. She was of average height, with deep teal-colored hair sweeping down past her shoulders. This hair was naturally curly; it twisted in ringlets around her pale blue-skinned face. Leaf-shaped tattoos were inked over her cheeks, forehead, and eyes, which were bright amber, indicating her druidic ability.

That is, it would have, if it weren't for the fact that her skills were made so very obvious by her choice of garb. Greens and browns covered her entire body; a tabard of the Guardians of Hyjal rested on her chest. Her feet were bare, and she dug them into the sand as she looked around quietly. "Desolace," she murmured softly. Her gaze reached the lively grove, and she brightened for a moment. The inclination to visit the grove on her way southward was appealing.

She shook her head suddenly and frowned. "No," she told herself. "The sooner I reach Silithus, the better. No time to stop." She pursed her lips in determination and reached up to pat a hippogryph that was at her side. "Dear friend, are you ready to continue? Have you had a pleasant rest?" she crooned, stroking its feathers affectionately. It chirped in response, and she allowed a weak smile to flit across her lips. Slowly, she climbed atop her mount and gripped the reins. "Onward!"

She urged her hippogryph into the sky, and it took off, spreading its majestic wings. The woman held on tight and leaned in, and her thoughts began to drift elsewhere...

"_Sister," a white-haired night elf man started. "The Moonblade is worried about your learning. I have heard that Brother Eshel has been rather busy as of late, and he has not been attentive in his duty to help you progress as a druid."_

_The teal-haired woman nodded in response. "Yes, Brother Galondel, this much is true. I am afraid he has not shown the most interest in my studies."_

_Galondel heaved a sigh and tapped his staff on the ground a couple of times as he thought. "As a Cenarion of the Moonblade unit, I have the responsibility to provide practice and guidance to young druids of our order. Seeing as you are a part of the Moonblade as well, and you are for the most part without a mentor, you would fall under that category of 'young druids.' Say, sister.. would you be opposed to me taking up your training? Matron Melyria has contacted me about Eshel's lack of concern for your education. I would gladly take you up as my thero'shan, if you would accept me as your shan'do."_

_The woman blinked slowly, then furrowed her brows. "Well.. I appreciate the offer, truly. But of course, you must understand that I mean no disrespect when I say that I need to consult Eshel first. I cannot make the decision right now, without speaking with him."_

"_Of course, sister. I would not expect an answer straight away. Please, take your time, and contact me when you can give me the verdict."_

The scene in her head faded black, and a new memory took its place.

"_Sister, I am so very glad you could accept my offer," Galondel said with a smile. "It is my honor to train you as my thero'shan. Please, follow me. We will begin with the crafting of your staff, here in the Stormrage Barrow Dens..."_

Once more the scene faded, and a flurry of images spewed forth—arduous training, smiling and laughing, practicing the druidic transformation into a doe's form, the occasional debate, hugs and tears; they all blended into a medley of memories. Eventually, the barrage slowed down and focused upon another scene.

_The woman let out a sigh as she wandered over to the mailbox at Nijel's Point. Battle wounds littered her body, and she had clearly just gotten out of a fierce fight. Many other soldiers were spread out around the Alliance encampment, and they, too, had obviously been in the same battle as her. A pair of them passed by, chattering to each other._

"_Could you believe the amount of demons? The tide was endless!"_

"_I know! Shadowbreak Ravine was swarming with them! I was certain I wouldn't make it out alive..."_

"_And then the warlock at the end! What a fiend! But the druids were so skilled as they managed to save the sacred tree!"_

"_Imagine what the Burning Legion could have done with a tree grown out of a seed of G'Hanir!"_

"_Galondel Fleetsong was so brave to lead the attack!"_

_The woman smiled faintly, a surge of pride filling her chest. He had been her shan'do. He had trained her up to the top. He really _was_ brave, and she had the honor of calling herself his former thero'shan. She had 'graduated,' so to speak, some time ago—but her sense of loyalty and pride had not left her._

_She reached the mailbox and pulled out a letter with her name signed on it. She frowned, inspecting the markings on it and instantly recognizing them. "A letter from Galondel?" she said to herself, puzzled. "But I was only with him a few hours ago—what could he possibly have to say in this letter that he could not have simply said to me himself?"_

_She opened it up and scanned it, eyes widening as she read its contents:_

"_Soldiers of the Moonblade,__Ishnu dal dieb. I will make this brief. Recently I have been called upon by Hyjal. They are forming a new project in their military and have asked me to helm it. I will, unfortunately, be resigning from the Moonblade for this reason. I have very much enjoyed fighting alongside you all, and I thank you all for giving me this honor. I hope that I will not be forgotten, and that some of you may have learned something from me. Should you ever need me, you may call upon me. I will come. I will always come.__~Shan'do Fleetsong"_

_Confusion clouded her gaze as she passed her vision over the letter once, twice, three times. She furrowed her brows and swallowed back tears. He was leaving? But how could he do that so suddenly? And why did he not tell her first?_

_She looked over as another woman approached her. She was somewhat short, with purple-tinted skin and long blue hair that faded from light to dark as it flowed around her body. She bore a purple tabard with a white tree in the center: the tabard of the Moonblade. In her hand was a letter._

"_Leilla!" the teal-haired woman cried, running forward to reach her friend. "Have you seen? Have you seen what has happened?" She gripped Leilla by the shoulders firmly, eyes stretched wide._

_Leilla swallowed hard and nodded slowly. "I.. yes.. I have received the letter as well. Come, let us go somewhere more private." She began to lead the way toward the mountainside, where the two of them sat behind the remnants of an old Highborne wall._

"_How dare he?" Leilla rasped, tears streaming down her cheeks._

_The teal-haired elf's cheeks were also drenched. "He left without a word! How long until we see him again? It could be moons—years, even! Perhaps never, if this 'new project' in Hyjal ends up getting him _killed_!"_

_The two of them embraced each other, exchanging their unbridled distraught at the thought of one of their closest friends leaving without even saying goodbye._

This scene faded, and another one entered her mind.

_Many moons later, the teal-haired woman sat atop a nightsaber as she walked down a road in Ashenvale. Beside her, on his own saber, Galondel Fleetsong matched her mount's stride. They spoke quietly for a while, catching up with each other, as well as discussing battle plans for an upcoming skirmish with the Horde. The two had seen each other since Galondel's departure from the Moonblade, but it had been quite a long time since their last conversation._

_Silence pierced the air for a moment, until Galondel parted his lips. "I missed you," he said simply. "Very much so. More than the others."_

_The woman peered at him for a moment, letting silence once again fill the space around her. Finally, she inhaled slowly. "I missed you too, Galondel," she replied quietly._

Again, her thoughts sped onward.

_Another battle had clearly taken place. Fresh scars marked the bodies of the soldiers that had gathered in Silverwing Grove, and outraged cries about Horde attacks filled the air. Evidently, the skirmish that Galondel and his former thero'shan spoke of had recently come to pass._

_As the men and women licked their wounds, the teal-haired woman and Galondel decided to take a stroll toward Silverwing Outpost. When they reached their destination, they paused and turned to each other. Conversation commenced, and minutes rolled by. Eventually, their flow of topics came to a standstill._

_The woman hesitated for a brief moment, then suddenly leaned upward and pulled the man into a deep kiss, to which he responded at first with surprise, then with equal fervor._

Her mind reluctantly left that particular thought and honed in on a different one again.

_The woman and Galondel were curled up next to each other inside a hollow tree, whispering sweet nothings. As they began to slip into slumber, the woman parted her lips and started to sing a gentle lullaby from her childhood._

_"The stars, they tire and yearn for sleep,_  
_Oh, moon, stay out and play._  
_Midnight sounds and shadows deep,_  
_Please do not fade away._

_Alas, the sleeping forest yawns,_  
_And blinks its bleary eyes._  
_It's tired of waiting for the dawn,_  
_And so, casts up its sighs._

_Now close your eyes, my dearest one,_  
_Let slumber take your form._  
_The Goddess rests; her work is done,_  
_Now sunlight sheds its warmth._

_Your sleeping frame, from up above,_  
_The Lady Raven guards._  
_And from below, you'll feel the love,_  
_Of Aessina's heart._

_While through the trees, fresh sunlight runs,_  
_The White Stag watches you._  
_And nearby, his blessed son,_  
_Cenarius does too._

_Quiet your ever-beating chest,_  
_As sleep cloaks your sweet mind,_  
_For as you rest, the sun moves west,_  
_To set beyond the sky._

_The stars, they'll wake up from their sleep,_  
_The moon will come to play._  
_Midnight sounds and shadows deep,_  
_They will not stay away…_

_They will not stay… away…"_

More memories came crashing down on the woman as she flew southward with her hippogryph—an exchanging of vows during a traditional night elven mating ceremony; a blissful moment in which the woman was clearly with child; a sweet embrace between the two. Again, the flow of memories slowed down and honed in on one particular scene.

_The woman sat down on a chair, caressing her swollen stomach as she opened the first of two letters. She perused it, then lurched backward in shock at the contents. "No," she whispered, shaking her head rapidly. "No, it's not possible. He would never." She read it again to make sure, then took a deep breath and let it out shakily._

"_To whomever it concerns,_

_This letter is being written to you upon request of the Darnassian Senate. Immediately after the Siege of Orgrimmar had ended, I was given orders from the High King to take my elite company of Royal Stormwind Elite Cavaliers and clear the perimeter of the surrounding regions. My company, comprised of 40 of the finest lancers in the Eastern Kingdoms and four high ranking Paladins, including myself, ventured into the nearby region of Mulgore searching for Kor'kron loyalists._

_During our expedition into the bluff-littered plains, we came across a Kor'kron loyalist garrison camp. Most, if not all, of the soldiers were of the bovine scum variety. I ordered my Cavaliers to line up, and prepare to charge the garrison. As the royal banner of the High King appeared shining on the horizon, lit by the sickly sun of the wretched nation of Mulgore, the Kor'kron filth prepared their defense._

_Oddly enough, it was not a member of the Horde who led the defense, no. It was a bloody Night Elf, antlers and all. As most of the Kor'kron filth began to flee like cowards, the Elf mongrel made his stand. The violet bastard began to conjure a variety of filthy pagan spells and fired them at us as we led our charge. He took the lives of two of my Paladins and twenty five of my lancers. We used our mastery of the Light to curse the traitor, and to protect ourselves in a shield of Light._

_We broke through his wretched magics and ended his pitiful life. For his sins of murdering my Royal Stormwind Elite Cavaliers, I removed his head and placed it on a pike. As we rode away, his corrupted traitor blood spilled behind us. Riding to the rising pylons of Thunder Bluff, we set fire to the traitor's head and placed it to rise up, so his remains could rest with his filthy Horde friends._

_The revered Druid had betrayed the court of Stormwind, and died like a traitor. Let it be known that the filthy dog, Galondel Fleetsong, died a Horde lover, and betrayer of His Grace, High King Varian Wrynn. _

_Earl Frederic Bennet of Elwynn_

_Field Marshal of Stormwind _

_Paladin Marshal of the Stormwind Elite Cavaliers"_

_Dead? It wasn't possible. Galondel, allied with Kor'kron loyalists? Something didn't click. Surely, this was some cruel prank played upon her. She regained confidence, certain that the second letter would confirm her assumptions that the first letter was a joke._

_Everything was made much more clear after she read the next letter. _Too clear._ So much so that the woman could not handle all of the emotions that were thrown at her—agony, sorrow, anger... but also relief; at least now, she knew that the first letter had been sorely mistaken in its accusations of Galondel's treachery._

"_Honored sister, Druid of the Antler, mate of Brother Galondel,_

_I write you this message so that you may know the truth of what has become of the Shan'do Fleetsong. Roughly nine moons ago, the Elder Talon arrived at our Druidic children's school in Mulgore among the beauty of the bluffs. In this school, small calves, barely old enough to speak, are introduced to the path of Druidism._

_The Shan'do Fleetsong had come to aid in teaching the young-lings of the totem of the Bird Queen—the Talon. Many of our students were young children, orphaned by Garrosh's tyranny. Fleetsong helped us take these young Shu'halo in under our wing, and he taught them Druidism._

_It was mid day. The sun was high. The animals grazed along the plains and the sky was clear of clouds. A thundering noise was heard and we scurried outside. It was an Alliance raid. We had been warned of a bloodthirsty Paladin crusader who led a company of templar raiders, however we did not believe they would attack us... a children's school. With haste, the instructors moved as swiftly as possible to move the children from their tents, and towards Thunder Bluff. Galondel stayed behind to cover our retreat._

_As we looked behind us, we witnessed the the oncoming thrall of charging cavaliers. The children were screaming in fear. Galondel mustered all of his strength. It was said that his Cenarion antlers shone with a light brighter than the light of Mu'sha herself. He called upon his mastery of nature and let forth a barrage of wind, nature's wrath, and the earth. It was even said that he called upon the stars themselves to fall upon the raiders._

_The corrupted human raiders summoned a sunwalker shield of light, making them temporarily invincible and un-harmed by the Elder Talon's efforts. The Druid could no longer hold them off. The humans took the head of the Elder Talon and escaped. Myself and a few elders rushed to his corpse, only to find that his staff had lost all of its life._

_Once we picked up his staff, an intense blue light began to emit from his body. Seconds later, a wisp emerged and began to flutter away, north towards Hyjal. We brought his staff to the boughs of Nordrassil, and merged it with the world tree. His legacy will now be one with the World Tree._

_Thunder Bluff will never forget the sacrifice made by the Elder Talon. Long will his name be sung, and his deeds etched into the stories of our people to be passed down for generations. Long will he be remembered in Hyjal. Long will he be remembered in Moonglade. We will never forget the Elder Talon. The Shu'halo will always remember._

_-Gignar Dreamwalker, Archdruid of Mulgore"_

_Tears poured out of her eyes, coating her cheeks. She buried her face in her hands as uncontrollable sobs shook her body, but a certain amount of pride swelled within her._

_He was dead. He was truly, utterly dead, and for that, she wept bitterly. However, Galondel had, in fact, never sided with the Kor'kron; he had defended a tauren orphanage from corrupt humans. He gave his life to protect the innocent._

_It was such an honorable death; she was so proud of him._

The woman closed her eyes for a moment and gripped the reins tighter, fighting back tears. One last memory flashed through her mind's eye.

"_There, there, my sweet," the teal-haired elf murmured to a small infant in her arms as she set it down in a simple wooden crib at Nijel's Point, Desolace. "I have been cruel to you; my love has not been full. I saw you as a burden, but no longer." She leaned down to give it a kiss on its white-tufted forehead. "I wish I could spare more time, but the situation is urgent."_

_She continued on, pretending the child could understand what she was saying. "Leilla will be here any moment to retrieve you, and she will look after you while I am gone. I have shown her this token," she whispered, pulling out a tiny white statue of a stormcrow with yellow topaz gemstones for eyes. "I don't want to leave her to look after you for too long; I know she has many duties. If I find that I will be gone for more time than I had expected, I will send this trinket to whomever I trust to take care of you. Look," she said, holding up the stormcrow. "It's just like your daddy. He was a brave Druid of the Talon; he turned into a bird just like this one." She placed the stormcrow in the left pocket of her pants, then held the infant's tiny fingers and rubbed them soothingly—for the child's sake or for her own, she was not entirely sure. "My darling daughter, I will return to you as soon as I can."_

And so, she opened her eyes, waking from her trance. Glancing at the hippogryph, then craning her neck to look behind her at the distance they had traveled, she sighed. They were crossing the border into Feralas now, and she knew her mount would need to rest very soon. Reaching down, she patted its side. "Come now, friend—we will stop at Feathermoon Stronghold."

The hippogryph cooed in response, but its sound was soon cut off as some unseen force barreled into the animal and its rider with tremendous power. The two found themselves falling down, hitting tree branches along the way; the woman tried to shift into her avian form, but the impact of so many branches as she fell left her too winded and frightened.

The hippogryph hit the ground with a sickening crunch, and the woman felt her body bruise badly as her world started to fade to black. She heard footsteps approach her, and she vaguely felt her pockets being searched.

"Here's something.. her name.." a male voice said.

"What is it?" came a female voice.

The male voice said something in a low tone, then read the text off of some sort of talisman he must have found. His voice rang through in the battered druid's ears just as she slipped into a state of unconsciousness.

"Thellandria Cinderpelt, Druid of the Antler."


	3. Chapter 3 - An Adventure to Remember

Lorithiel growled in frustration, nudging with her feet at the sides of the Darkmoon pony she sat upon. "Dimpy! Move, damn you!" she exclaimed, grumbling sourly. "Gah! I knew I should have bought the dancing bear when I had the chance." She huffed an exasperated sigh, then slipped off of her mount and landed with a squish in a muddy puddle.

"Elwynn Forest," she muttered, tromping through the damp soil as she made her way from the Darkmoon Faire staging site to Goldshire. "It just _had_ to rain _today_, didn't it?" Her leather boots clicked onto hard stone as she found herself standing on the town's cobblestone roads. She heaved a sigh, then brushed a strand of soaked hair away from her face and began walking through.

The area was bustling with activity. The blacksmith's building was emitting a loud racket, with shouts and calls coming from inside, and large billows of smoke erupting from the chimney. The tradesmen all stood around beneath their tents, haggling with customers and roaring out their advertisements in futile attempts to overcome the noise of pounding rain. The stable boys were guiding their horses beneath shelter, while the steeds whinnied and neighed against the touch of falling water on their pelts.

A blonde-haired woman walked by, holding a basket of bread that was protected by a thick cloth. Her hair was drenched, but she was clearly intent on completing the day's job.

"Oi look, it's Miss Kira Songshine!" a man yelled, gesturing toward the woman.

"Hey, Kira! We were about to head inside the Lion's Pride! Why don't you join us?" another man exclaimed, cackling mirthfully.

Kira scoffed and waved her hand. "Me, go in there? Would you like my dad to blow his gasket?" she replied, then laughed. "Perhaps you'd enjoy the idea of him chopping your manly parts off?" This earned her a flurry of raucous laughter.

Lorithiel blinked, then chuckled faintly to herself. _Ah, of course,_ she thought. _The infamous Lion's Pride Inn. How could I have forgotten?_ She could hear some of the unsavory sounds coming from nearby inn, and she wrinkled her nose a bit. _I think it would be best if we avoided that._

She continued onward, trudging down the cobblestone road, jumping around puddles every few seconds. _Stormwind, here I come. One step closer to finding my family, _she thought to herself, squinting through the dense rain as the shapes of Stormwind's gates began to come into her vision, looming up into the stormy sky.

Lorithiel walked through the streets of the city, wrapping her cloak around herself tighter and pulling down her hood a bit as the rain continued to fall. She eventually came across a building in the middle of the Trade District. Outside, a sign hung from its roof.

"Weller's Arsenal," she read in a murmur. Smiling a bit, she roped her pony to a post nearby and went inside, pulling her hood down and glancing around the shop.

A man behind the counter waved her over. "Say, miss elf! Are you looking for anything in particular? Can I interest you in the finest weapons this city has to offer?" he inquired, grinning up at her in a hopeful manner.

Lorithiel pulled out a satchel of gold from her bag and fingered through it, pulling out a decent amount of gold. "Give me your best. I'm going to need it," she replies, looking down at the money in her palm. It had been the money her parents were saving up for a family vacation, but of course.. there would be no family vacation anymore, so Lorithiel felt it would do no harm to put the gold to good use.

The man blinked at the coins, then scurried around the store, searching through boxes upon boxes for a few minutes until finally coming back, a lethally sharp dagger resting in his hand. "Northern Kris," he whispered. "The blade is made of the sturdiest, most trusty Arathorian steel, and the hilt is wrapped in the strongest leather from the winter-hardened rams of Alterac."

Lorithiel slowly outstretched her hand and coiled her fingers around the hilt, getting a firm grasp on the weapon. She inspected it briefly, then began twisting her wrist around, making herself familiar with the feeling of holding the blade.

It was silver, with the deadly, snake-like curves of a typical kris. The hilt was securely swathed in a dark brown leather, and the butt of the weapon was beautifully carved and sculpted. Engraved vines curled around it, and in the center was etched a single rose, shaded golden, but worn away by time. Dents and scratches were marked all along the metal, but it was clearly still just as tough as when it was first crafted. The blade was well-worn, but that did not deter Lorithiel; in fact, it only served to further boost her confidence. This dagger had seen its fair share of use, and it could certainly see quite a bit more if it had to.

"I'll take it," she said, handing over her gold coins with a small smile of satisfaction.

The man looked delighted. "Wonderful, madam! I will be right back with your sheath!" he exclaimed, then scurried off again. He returned a few moments later, a leather sheath in hand. "Here you are, miss," he said, placing it in her grasp. "Wildhammer leather, imported from the Highlands!"

Lorithiel eyed it curiously; it was indeed quite beautiful, just like its companion dagger. The material was embroidered with gold runes, and the entire form was made out of Celtic Wildhammer knots.

"It is.. splendid," she said. "Thank you so very much." She flashed an appreciative smile in his direction.

He smiled in return, then tilted his head curiously. "Pardon, madam—I hate to be a bother, and I don't mean to intrude.. but we don't get customers coming in looking for weapons like this one very often. Where are you headed with this item?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow inquisitively. "If you don't mind the question, of course."

Lorithiel chuckled briefly, still gazing at the dagger and sheath in her hands. "I am going to Kalimdor.. in search of my lost family. I do not know who they are.. but I will find them. This I am sure of." She tightened her grip around the hilt of the kris, then wrapped the belt part of the sheath around her waist, securing it with a quick tug. "I will do whatever it takes to achieve my goal."

The man widened his eyes a bit in surprise. "I take it you will be boarding the boat from Stormwind Harbor to Rut'theran Village?" he inquired, furrowing his brows.

"Why, yes," Lorithiel replied, running her fingers through her drying hair. "That is what I intend." She narrowed her eyes slightly at the man, pursing her lips in thought. "Why do you ask?"

The man waved his hands a bit. "If I am imposing, I apologize, truly. It's just that.. I have a Gilnean friend residing in Darnassus at the moment, and I was planning on paying him a visit at some point. Of course, I wasn't exactly thinking of going right this moment, but I could alter my schedule a little bit. I know a sorcerer who can teleport us to Mudsprocket in Dustwallow. He used to be a mage of Theramore, so he is familiar with the magical ley lines there. Unfortunately, he is unacquainted with any other areas of Kalimdor, but.. it's something. The boat ride would take weeks, and the seas are treacherous. Magic travel could shave off a formidable amount of time."

Lorithiel frowned a bit, suspicion glistening in her gaze. "Why are you offering this to me? I don't even know your name." She idly traced her fingers along the engravings of her new dagger.

The man sighed slightly. "To be completely honest? I dearly adore my friend, but he is such a long way away, and journeying to him can be so tedious without a comrade." He looked up suddenly. "And my name? It is Darren. Darren White. I work for Gunther and Marda Weller." He dipped his head respectfully.

Lorithiel kept her eyes locked on him for a few moments, then eventually inclined her head as well. "And I am Lorithiel Shaderunner. I must say, I can understand your dilemma. I would be lying if I said I would rather make this trip alone." She allowed an amused smile to creep onto her lips.

Darren smiled as well. "Well, I will let you get on with your night. I am sure there is much more for you to do, as there is for me. Can we agree upon meeting here at sunset on the third day? Will that give you enough time to do what you must in the city?"

Lorithiel considered this for a moment, then nodded. "Three days it is, then. I look forward to our journey, Darren White. I am sure we will be of much aid to each other." She slowly lowered her dagger into its sheath, then looked up at Darren again. "Until we meet again."

"Light bless," Darren replied, watching as Lorithiel turned on her heel and exited the shop.

Lorithiel glanced around, pulling her hood up again. It was still drizzling, but it had definitely lightened up outside. She smiled gently to herself, grabbing a hold of Dimpy's reins and walking down the streets of Stormwind. Taking a deep breath, she paused and thought for a moment, mulling over what had just transpired. She laughed lightly, then sighed contentedly as a feeling filled her mind and gut. She could not put her finger on it for some time, but eventually, she identified it—excitement. She wrapped her damp cloak around her body.

_This will be an adventure to remember. I can feel it._


	4. Chapter 4 - Rescued

_Uhrk.. my head.. where am I?_ Groggy amber eyes fluttered upon, peering sleepily at their surroundings.

"Ah, you're awake!" a female voice came from nearby. "Sister Thellandria Cinderpelt, it is so good to see that you are alright."

Thellandria felt a hand rest on her back; a chill ran up her spine, and she turned her head to see a violet-haired night elf woman smiling down at her. Immediately, Thellandria relaxed and smiled back, if a bit faintly. "Hello," she replied in a raspy voice, finding herself a bit hoarse. "Thank you so much for saving me. Who knows what creatures could have found me in the forest, had you not been there?" She tried to sit up, but found herself rather sore.

"There, there, lay back down again and rest. Don't trouble yourself," the violet-haired woman crooned, reaching over with a damp cloth to dab the druid's periwinkle face.

Thellandria let out a sigh and closed her eyes for a moment, then looked up again. "You seem to know my name, probably from a token in my bags.. but what about yours? What am I to call my savior?"

The violet-haired woman chuckled in amusement. "I am Rishe Clawfern," she said, still wiping at the druid's head with her cloth. "You are quite lucky to have not broken anything—not even your armor, save for a few scratches on the way down. Your hippogryph broke the fall very well."

Thellandria became lost in thought. _Rishe Clawfern_... Something told her she would not forget the name any time soon. Rishe's face was peculiar; her markings were unfamiliar to the druid. They looked almost like little flames leaping up around the sides of her cheeks, cradling her glowing silver eyes. _What odd tattoos, _Thellandria thought to herself. _A family tradition, surely. How interesting!_

Suddenly, she blinked and looked around. "My hippogryph! Where? Where is he?" she asked, glancing about wildly.

Rishe placed a hand soothingly on Thellandria's shoulder. "Dear sister, I am afraid there was nothing we could do. At least we can guarantee that he died a swift death, as soon as he hit the ground. There was no suffering."

Thellandria's eyes began to water, but she blinked them away and took a deep breath. "I.. I understand. I am glad he was not in any pain," she replied, then tilted her head. "We? Who else are you with?"

Rishe opened her mouth to respond, but she was cut off as another figure emerged from the bushes nearby. "Me," the emerald-haired night elf man said. "Lirandil Clawfern. I am Rishe's brother." He dipped his head, then leaned down and placed a collection of vegetables and fruits on the ground. "I've been out gathering supplies."

"We've been camped here for a few days," Rishe explained, exchanging a quick glance with her brother. "We heard you fall, and we rushed you back here as soon as we could."

Thellandria nodded slowly. "I see. Well, thank you. I'm not entirely sure what caused the fall.. it was as if something had struck my hippogryph with great force, knocking it down." She furrowed her brows and grimaced. "I'm not sure what that something was, though."

"Your mount may have been fatigued, friend. If he was tired enough, even something as insignificant as a gust of wind could have brought him to the ground," Lirandil said, glancing up at Thellandria.

The druid inclined her head in assent, then slowly started to rise up into a sitting position again. She took a deep breath and squeezed her eyes shut, forcing back the pain and soreness. "Right," she puffed, then looked around. "Well.. I'd best be going, I suppose. You've been ever so kind, really.. let me know if there is anything I can do to return the favor, but.. I've lost so much time now that I am without a mount; I really cannot spare another minute."

"Surely you need rest first!" Rishe protested, then sighed in defeat and peered curiously at the druid. "Where exactly are you off to in such a rush, if you don't mind me asking?"

Thellandria's gaze hardened slightly. "Revenge," she replied simply. "I would rather not go into greater detail." She furrowed her brows as she recalled her mission, but she chose not to speak any further.

Rishe frowned a bit, but nevertheless reached out to help the druid rise to her feet. "Well," she said as Thellandria began regaining her footing. "I won't stop you, but.. please, allow us to give you one of our hippogryphs." She whistled, and a black-feathered creature came striding over. "This is Nightwind. She will take you wherever you may need to go."

Thellandria shook her head. "Oh, no, I couldn't! Thank you so much, though. You are too kind."

Rishe smiled a bit, then took Nightwind's reins in her hands and placed them in Thellandria's. "No, really, we insist. It is the least we can do, after the awful tragedy you have experienced," she said, patting the druid calmly.

Thellandria smiled in return, then laughed a bit. "Alright, alright, I'll admit defeat," she joked, taking the reins and gripping them tightly. "But really, I am so very appreciative of everything you have done. If there is anything you need, feel free to call on me. I will come."

Rishe dipped her head respectfully, then looked up and jumped. "Oh! I had almost forgotten the necklace! Lirandil, would you be a dear and go fetch it?" she called over her shoulder, causing the man to hurry to the other side of the camp, searching through a bag and pulling out a golden chain with a simple orange pendant attached to it. He brought it over to Thellandria, who blinked in surprise and curiosity.

"It is a family tradition," Rishe informed the druid. "Each and every Clawfern keeps a few of these necklaces on hand. They are a symbol of good fortune and well wishes. It is our custom to gift them to any travelers who we deem worthy." She smiled warmly. "And you, my friend, are certainly worthy."

Thellandria's eyes widened a bit, but she smiled in return and extended her hand. "I am so very flattered," she replied, wrapping her fingers around the chain as Lirandil placed it in her palm. "I will not forget your kindness."

The druid turned to face Nightwind, then paused for a heartbeat as she looked the creature over. Something glinted in the hippogryph's orange eyes, but when Thellandria approached it, the animal merely nickered a bit and bent down, allowing the woman to climb atop. She smiled gently and gave the creature a little pat on the neck. "We will work well together; I am certain, my great friend." With that, she waved a hand to the other two elves, then took off into the air.

Branches and leaves soared past her, and she smiled as she felt the wind brush against her skin. While Nightwind flew, Thellandria glanced down at the necklace within her hands. She felt the strange urge to wear it—to clasp it around her neck. She had initially planned on simply storing it in her bag, but it was really very beautiful. It would seem a shame to shove it away somewhere.

It glistened temptingly in the dying sunlight that shone through the trees as night began to creep closer; she blinked at it once, then reached up and fastened it around her neck. She took a deep breath, then suddenly recalled her mission once more. Anger filled her as the memory returned.

Earlier in the month, Thellandria had been given a journal by a friend of hers. In the earlier letter depicting Galondel's demise had been the key to finding out exactly who the corrupt Paladin who struck down her mate was: Frederic Bennet. However, in the journal was something just as valuable—his personality. The wheels had been turning in her head, and she knew exactly what she had to do.

She managed to drop a "hint" to the man, once she had found him, that there was a great treasure to be uncovered in Silithus, and that she would have gone after it herself, but she was still too weak to travel after recovering from her pregnancy. This was a complete lie, of course, but she knew it would work. From reading the journal and from asking around, she found out just how truly greedy this man was, and she knew exactly how to manipulate him into doing what she desired. She even pulled out an ancient scarab statue—which was really just a little clay trinket she had purchased a couple of days prior—to show what had been discovered by a friend of hers.

She knew he would come alone. He was far too obsessed with his own fortune; he would not risk alerting others to the "great treasure" of Silithus. It was on this avarice that Thellandria relied, and she knew in her heart that her trust was not misplaced. He would come.

Thellandria stroked Nightwind's feathers with one hand and gripped the reins tighter with the other. Dusk was falling like a shroud over Feralas, and with it, the druid's fury and determination grew.

He would come.

And she would be waiting for him.


	5. Chapter 5 - Complications

Lorithiel ran her hand through Dimpy's mane, combing his soft milky white hair with her fingers. The pony whinnied and nuzzled her in response, and she allowed a soft smile to creep upon her features. "Yes, yes.. perhaps you're not so bad after all," she admitted, then chuckled. "But we've a long journey ahead of us. Your values—or lack thereof—have yet to be shone upon by light. Then we will see your true colors, mmm?" She laughed again, rather heartily this time, to which the horse blinked once or twice.

"Dimpy, the greatest steed of Azeroth! Born in the eastern lands, raised on a stormy and uncharted isle, and traveling on a wondrous adventure through mires and fogs and deserts and forests and mountains and tempests! Ah, yes, I can see it now!" she exclaimed wildly, earning herself blank, confused stares from more than just her pony this time.

Lorithiel looked around and blushed slightly, watching as a few Stormwind residents skirted around town the long way in order to give her a bit of berth. Clearing her throat, she tugged her hood up tighter around her head and shuffled on through the Cathedral Square, leading Dimpy along with her.

The rain had continued for the past two days, though not as heavily as it had upon Lorithiel's arrival. During her stay, she had accomplished much—strong, thick clefthoof leather now garbed her whole body; she had paid a trainer for a little bit of brief practice with her dagger; and her bags were now packed with supplies. Poor Dimpy waddled along with bags, pots, pans, maps, and countless other items swaying to and fro, clanking with each step.

Leather-booted footsteps splashed against the puddle-strewn cobblestone path as Lorithiel made her way northeast. Smokes and fumes clouded up in the air above as she grew closer, and her nose wrinkled instinctively in discontent.

"The Dwarven District," she muttered quietly, wrapping her cloak around herself protectively as she glared up at the smog surrounding the area. Silent as a shadow and twice as swift, she slipped unseen through the busy streets and alleyways, finally stopping in front of a small building that sat in a hidden corner of the district. The door was painted a deep black, and above her head, a sign wavered unsteadily upon its perch. On it were the words _Stonethunder Armory_, slightly worn away by time.

Lorithiel tied Dimpy up outside, settling him underneath an awning while she turned back to the door again. Taking a deep breath, she stepped forward and knocked once before pushing inside the shop.

A bell tinkled above her head, signaling her arrival to the owner—but no such owner was anywhere to be found. Lorithiel frowned gently. _He came very highly recommended. Why isn't it more welcoming here?_ she thought to herself, glancing around at the grim, dark furniture. A fire sizzled feebly nearby, dimly illuminating the room, but not enough to make it feel sufficiently amiable.

Perking her ears, Lorithiel heard a sound of pinging metal, and when she turned her head to search for its origin, she caught sight of a faint glow coming from around the corner. Curiosity sparked up in her, and she began to proceed toward the light.

The clanging noise grew louder and more steady, and the faint glow soon developed into what Lorithiel was sure was a light pouring out from a fiery forge. As she stepped closer and closer, she found herself standing by the entrance to the room from which the sounds were coming. Holding her breath, she peered around the threshold and almost immediately shielded her eyes from what she saw.

Sparks flew everywhere while loud bangs confirmed her suspicions: armor was indeed being crafted at this very moment by the man she sought. Once the initial shock faded, she lowered her hands and watched for a moment more before knocking on the doorway and clearing her throat to announce her presence. "Excuse me, sir," she called over to him, taking a few tentative steps into his workplace.

The man looked up, revealing his features. A long, grey beard fell from a ruddy yet jovial face, then was tucked into a thick steel-buckled belt toward the end. Bushy eyebrows jutted out from above the aforementioned face, though they were the color of charcoal more than the color of grey, hinting at what the bearer's hair color had once been many moons past. A couple of fingers were missing from the left hand, and an eye patch sat over one eye, leaving the other to stare out from its sepia-hued depths.

"Aye, lass?" the man—clearly a dwarf—grunted as he rose away from his work and wiped a bead of perspiration from his brow.

Lorithiel blinked a couple of times and glanced around. "I'm sorry to disturb you, sir, but I was only wondering if perhaps I could purchase some light chain mail to wear under my tunic. I asked around, and you were said to be quite the skilled armor smith."

The man huffed slightly and smiled a bit, tugging on his belt in a somewhat proud manner. "Well, then, I think they've sent ye to th'right place, if I do say so m'self. In fact, as it is, I was just workin' on a bit of light chain mail a few minutes before ye walked in. I reckon it's just about finished cooling now." He turned around and walked a few paces over to the far wall, rummaged around for a moment, then turned back with a shining chain mail shirt in his hands.

Lorithiel's eyes widened as the glow of the forge glinted off the stunning metal. "Oh, it's magnificent." She absently fiddled around with the money bag in her purse, suddenly starting to wonder if she had enough. "How much are you charging?"

The man scratched his chin for a moment. "I don't have me booklet at me side right now, but I'd say.. prob'ly thirty gold. It's mithril, see. I'd usually charge quite a bit more, but this is only light chain mail, not some 'eavy breastplate or dense war'ammer."

"Oh!" Lorithiel exclaimed delightedly, reaching into her pouch and pulling out the required coins. "That's excellent! I'll certainly take it." She extended her hand, dropping the amount into the man's grasp as he handed her the armor. "Thank you ever so much, Mister.. ehm...?"

"Koran. Koran Stonethunder," he replied, dipping his head once.

"Pleasure to meet you. I am Lorithiel Shaderunner." Lorithiel smiled and turned to leave, but a startled utterance sounded from behind her. She blinked and glanced back again to find Koran staring intently at something attached to the side of her hip. Following his gaze, she realized that it was her dagger sheath that had caught his attention.

"I.. I..." he murmured, perplexed. "I'm sorry, miss, I just.. that sheath, it looks.. so familiar.." He trailed off, seemingly lost in confused thought.

Furrowing her brows, Lorithiel ran her hand over the embroideries of the sheath. "This? I.. er.. I only just purchased it a couple of days ago. Might I ask what about it has ensnared your interests?"

Koran shook his head to clear it. "Apologies, lass. It's only.. a sheath looking exactly like that one belonged to me Wild'ammer grandpappy just a few months ago, before he was slain by a Dragonmaw orc in th'Twilight Highlands. I didn't know I was half Wild'ammer 'til just under a year ago; went on a search fer me fam'ly, an' lo an' behold, I found 'em. Wasn't an easy journey, I'll tell ye that, but I sure am proud as all Light that I went through with it." He gestured again toward the sheath, steering himself back on topic. "Stolen, that was.. an' I s'pose it managed t'a find its way here, likely through black market trade. Not that I'm one t'a condemn, o' course; I've had my fair share of back alley dabbling in my day, but I don't exactly go blabbing it about, an' I'd prefer if ye kept that one under yer hat."

Lorithiel blinked and stretched her eyes wide in shock. "This? Belonged to your grandfather?" She gasped and began fiddling with the straps. "Please, take it, I couldn't possibly bear to think I'm keeping it from you!"

Koran raised a hand and shook his head. "No no, I'm glad it's being put t'a good use. It would only collect dust, were I t'a keep it. Go; use the sheath, but be respectful of it, 'cause it's seen quite a bit of fighting in its time."

Gaze softening, Lorithiel smiled a bit and relaxed, tightening the straps again. "You are too kind, Koran Stonethunder. As it happens, I also am on a search for lost family," she said. "I recently discovered that I was found alone in Ashenvale, where my adoptive parents stumbled upon me and took me in. I am sure my family is still out there somewhere; I just have to find them. I'll be traveling to Ashenvale very soon."

As Koran listened to her story, something akin to sympathy and excitement twinkled in his one good eye. He hesitated for a moment, then shifted his weight to his other foot awkwardly. "That sounds.. extraordinarily similar t'a me own tale. Light knows, I 'ad a difficult time completing me goal; I think it 'ad t'a do with th'fact that I was alone fer th'majority o' th'journey. Th'lack of support really got t'a me." His gaze flashed with understanding as he thought back to the memories of him being in her own shoes.

Lorithiel smiles a bit sadly. "I'm sorry to hear that. I actually won't be going entirely alone, but the person I am going with is someone I don't really know at all, so I can't be sure how well it will turn out for us."

Koran paused for a moment, clearly fighting an inner battle with himself. "Say, lass," he finally began in a slow way. "I don't s'pose.. you've got room fer another? It's only.. I've been meaning t'a bring me mining pick on another adventure anyway, since I'm running a bit low on materials, an' th'prices these days 'ave gone absolutely bonkers. An' now, after hearin' yer story, I see so many parallels.. it's just, I don't want t'a see ye ending up in my shoes, y'know? Sure, I accomplished what I set out t'a do, but I was miserable in the mean time. An' I can't stand the idea of another going through what I had t'a."

".. I.. er.." stammered Lorithiel as she reached up to scratch the back of her neck. "I.. I wouldn't complain if you really wanted to join us, but are you sure? It seems rather sudden to make the decision now.. and after all, I can't give you much time to pack or get ready; I'm leaving tomorrow at sundown."

Koran puffed out a sigh. "I know it sounds deranged, but t'a be honest, it gets depressing around 'ere with all o' these forges an' anvils an' th'likes. I live with no one, I go no where anymore, I'm running low on supplies, an' yer story got me a bit worked up." He shook his head a bit. "It was silly of me t'a intrude, an' I'm sorry if I've offended ye."

Lorithiel peered at him curiously for a few moments, then parted her lips to speak. "Brother Stonethunder, I would be honored to have you alongside me in this journey. I only worry that time constraints will be an issue. As I have said, the time of my departure is scheduled for tomorrow evening."

"Nonsense," barked Koran with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I'll be ready in a jiffy, you'll see. Worry about me none."

Lorithiel blinked in surprise; she was gaining members to her cause quite quickly—a turn of events she was not at all expecting. "Well.. er.. as you wish, sir. It would be my pleasure. I will be here shortly before sundown, then." She was about to turn to leave, but paused mid-step and narrowed her eyes slightly, a nagging feeling forming in the pit of her stomach. "Did you happen to find out who was the culprit behind the robbing of the sheath?" she inquired.

Koran grunted in response. "Aaroc," he said, and Lorithiel breathed a silent sigh of relief. Aaroc did not sound in any way familiar.

"Him an' his whole fam'ly are a gang of good-fer-nothin' thieves. Can't turn yer backs on 'em, th'tricky arses!" Koran continued, and the nagging feeling began to resurface in Lorithiel's stomach. "At any rate, Aaroc's dead now; it's 'is son I've got my eye on! Never really met th'lad, but I've seen 'im around town, an' I tell ye, he's th'spitting image of 'is father! Bad blood, I say. Never trust one o' that fam'ly." He growled darkly. "An' would ye b'lieve the cheek on 'im? Rumor has it -he- hates -me-! Now what bloody reason does he have? I never did anything wrong! He's th'one who came from a lyin', schemin', evil fam'ly!"

Lorithiel swallowed hoarsely. "And.. who might the son be, Mister Stonethunder? What is his name?"

"His name? Darren. Darren White."

_Well_, Lorithiel thought with an exasperated sigh. _This complicates things a bit._


	6. Chapter 6 - Anger

Thellandria ran her fingers through Nightwind's feathers, stepping away from the creature after having tied it to a post intended for mounts. These same nimble fingers soon found their way down to her necklace, where they lingered for some time while the druid stared off into the distance pensively.

Suddenly, the clasp around the necklace slipped, and the piece of jewelry began to fall toward the ground. Quick as a flash, Thellandria let out a surprised cry and snatched it up with startling agility. She brought it back up to her vision and stared at it intently, running an index finger over the pendant as if attempting to soothe it. Gently, she lifted the chain around her neck and fastened the clasp securely.

After doing so, she let out a content sigh and turned toward the nearby inn. It was a welcoming sight in these foreboding lands; after all, she was currently standing on the sandy, inhospitable ground of Silithus. Stepping inside, she resumed fiddling with the necklace and looked up as the innkeeper approached her.

"Hello, sister. My name is Calandrath. How can I help you?" the woman greeted; her shoulder-length purple hair stood as a stark contrast against the flowing green robes she wore.

Thellandria allowed a small smile of appreciation to flit across her lips as she accosted the innkeeper. "Nice to meet you, Calandrath. My name is Thellandria Cinderpelt." She had considered giving a false name, but she was a member of the Cenarion Circle who had spent much of her time serving on Mount Hyjal, so there was a chance she might be recognized. This would lead to some uncomfortable questions, which the druid was not too keen on answering, so she decided that in this particular case, honestly was the best policy. "I am looking to stay here for a few days—the exact number is uncertain as of right now, but it will likely be at least a couple of nights, probably much more."

Calandrath dipped her head once in assent. "We are almost never short of beds; Silithus isn't exactly a tourist hot-spot, and the soldiers positioned here almost always take up residence somewhere else—in designated bunkers, I presume, though I never did much enjoy meddling with their affairs, so I wouldn't really know."

Thellandria grew a bit surprised with herself. She noticed her fury rising as the innkeeper babbled on; usually, the druid was rather patient, but today, apparently she was not. Thankfully, before she could became too concerned with her rapidly increasing annoyance, Calandrath stopped speaking.

"But anyway," the innkeeper finished, "I'd be happy to accommodate you here. It'll cost you three gold per night, and you get a free breakfast in the morning."

Thellandria offered up her first payment right then and their. "Book me for tonight, at least, and I wouldn't be surprised if I ended up coming back here with another three gold tomorrow." She was about to leave, but a thought occurred to her, and she tilted her head at Calandrath. "Sorry, but.. have you seen a human Paladin come this way any time recently? He's high-ranking in the Alliance military; he probably had a plethora of badges attached to his armor."

Calandrath furrowed her brows in bemusement for a minute as she tried to remember someone fitting the description given to her. "Hrmm.." she murmured after a while. "No, I'm afraid not, sister. I'm sorry I can't be of any help."

Thellandria nodded quietly, a pang of disappointment hitting her briefly before fading away. _No matter,_ she thought to herself. _He will come soon._

She headed upstairs and began to unpack, placing her belongings in a drawer, the lock to which Calandrath had given the druid a key. Just as she finished, she began to hear noises outside. Among a cacophony of disgruntled voices, Thellandria could clearly hear the caw of a hippogryph. Narrowing her eyes, she rushed downstairs and stormed outside to see what was happening.

As she stepped outside, she spotted a throng of men and women trying to tie ropes around Nightwind as the hippogryph bucked and reared against them. Furious, Thellandria barged over toward them, rage clear on her face.

One of the men saw her coming and hurried straight toward her. "Sister! Is this your hippogryph?" he called out as he grew closer.

"Yes, she is, and I would absolutely _love_ to know _why_ you are currently seeking to _harm_ her!" she spat angrily, sending scathing glares around at the group. They backed away slightly, and as soon as Nightwind caught sight of Thellandria, something glistened in the animal's eyes, and it immediately stopped struggling.

"She was out of control, sister! She went on an complete rampage; we were trying to subdue her when you came out!" the man explained, gesturing to the beast with one hand.

Thellandria's gaze did not grow remorseful. In fact, it only seemed to become more frustrated. "Does that look like an 'out of control,' 'rampaging' lunatic to you?" she demanded, pointing at Nightwind. "Because it certainly doesn't to me! If anything, she lashed out at you because you were intimidating her with your ridiculous ropes!" Her eyes burned with passion; the anger that had been gradually building up seemed to be leaking out of her amber stare.

The man looked exasperated. "But miss, we—"

"I am sure you all have better things to do than harass innocent animals," she interrupted. "I trust I won't have to deal with your insults in the future, lest there be consequences." Her glare silently challenged the men and women to protest; none of them did. "Good," she said finally, stepping forward and offering Nightwind a sweet pat on the head.

Those gathered slowly began to drift away, and once Thellandria was sure they were gone, she finally turned around and walked back inside and upstairs. Once up there, she puffed out a sigh and leaned heavily against a wall. The fury she had felt a few moments ago had actually scared her; she was not entirely certain where it had come from, or why.

_What's happening to me?_


	7. Chapter 7 - It Begins

Soft, agile footsteps blended with heavy, plate-footed ones as Lorithiel and Koran made their way through the streets of Stormwind, with a baggage-laden Dimpy clopping faithfully behind. Koran's face twisted sourly as they approached Weller's Arsenal, but he said nothing.

"Remember," Lorithiel murmured to him, "he has done nothing against you. The father may have wronged your family, but the son is not to blame."

Koran grumbles something indecipherable beneath his breath. "The whole lot of 'em are fiends, I tell ye. Keep 'im in check, an' I'll still join ye." This earned him a disappointed sigh from Lorithiel, but the two continued onward.

Koran had taken much convincing, but eventually, Lorithiel had managed to assure him that she would keep a sharp eye on Darren during the trip. The elven woman was fairly certain that the dwarf was just being prejudiced, but nevertheless, she agreed to be wary just for the sake of quelling his misgivings.

As they entered underneath the wooden sign, Lorithiel tied Dimpy up outside, and Koran took a deep breath and held it, physically having to contain himself as they both entered the shop.

"Darren White?" Lorithiel called, peering around the store. "It is Lorithiel Shaderunner. I've come to join in your company."

A moment later, a head popped out from behind a corner, an excited grin plastered upon its face. "Miss Shaderunner! Splendid! I'm all packed and ready to—" He stopped abruptly, eyes widening in shock and annoyance. Lorithiel followed his gaze, though she really already knew exactly what he was looking at, and after further investigation, she found that her assumptions were correct.

"What is _he_ doing here?" Darren asked sharply, pointing at Koran with his eyes narrowed.

"Oh, _you're_ one t'a talk, ye cheeky little bugger! The sass of ye, I ought t'a come over there an'—"

"And what? Give me a death glare for absolutely no reason whatsoever? Because that's about all you've been doing every time you lay eyes on me in town. Honestly, it's laughable how much worse your bark is compared to your bite."

"'_No reason whatsoever'?_ What the _hell_ do ye call larceny an' dishonesty, you _knave_?!"

"I never set a single finger on anything that wasn't mine!"

"Oh, so _that's_ how ye got yer hands on th'bloody sheath that ye sold just a couple of damned days ago? Because it was rightfully yours? Not at all _stolen_ from me _grandfather_, ye _twit_!"

Lorithiel was beginning to regret having told Koran where she purchased the sheath while they were walking from Stonethunder Armory to Weller's Arsenal earlier in the evening.

"The sheath was _yours_? How was _I_ supposed to know?! It came into my possession when my father died without a will! He never _told me _that he stole it!"

"Oh, because it's that hard t'a guess, is it? It's not like he's a known criminal with an enormous record! Magni's beard, an' I thought yer _dad_ was as daft as they came! I guess I was wrong!"

"I never—"

"ENOUGH!" Lorithiel bellowed, shooting glares at the both of them. "Stop your bickering. If you can't figure out a way to get past your differences, then you can both make your journeys to Kalimdor on your own." Her tone softened a bit. "I appreciate the fact that you both were so eager to accompany me, but if you can't get along, then you'll only serve to give me a headache."

The both of them muttered quietly to themselves, but eventually shrugged a bit and hung their heads. Lorithiel took this as compliance, so she got down to business. "Right," she said, heaving a sigh and placing her hands on her hips. "Where are we off to? The Mage Quarter, I presume? That is where your friend probably is, yes, Darren?"

Darren nodded slightly, still a bit moody. "Yes, he will be waiting for us there," he replied, then narrowed his eyes at Koran. "Of course, I can't guarantee _he'll_ be able to fit his fat dwarven arse through the portal. He might get stuck and be forced to stay behind." He huffed in frustration. "With any luck, that is."

Koran's eyes flashed with renewed fury, and he opened his lips to retort, but Lorithiel silenced him with a stare. "Don't," she said simply. He looked as if he was about to protest, but in the end, he said nothing.

Letting out a sigh, Lorithiel gestured for the two men to follow her. "Come, before it grows dark. Your friend will become impatient, Darren, if we loiter here too long." Without waiting for a response and ignoring the fact that she was completely aware that the human and dwarf were sending each other glares behind her back, she stepped outside and untied Dimpy, then began walking in the direction of the Mage Quarter.

After a few minutes, the group reached their destination. Lorithiel turned to face Darren, then dipped her head to him. "I trust you know where your friend has designated to be the meeting point?" she inquired. After receiving a solitary nod in response, she took a step back to allow Darren to walk in front. "Lead on, then."

Darren silently bobbed his head again, then steered the party through the twisting paths of the Mage Quarter. Eventually, he came to a stop outside a small house. "Norman," he called as he knocked on the door gently. "We are here." He backed up and waited.

After a moment, the door opened to reveal a less-than-sane looking man in his forties. His black hair was disheveled, his chin was covered in a scruffy beard, and his brown eyes held a look that indicated him "not being all there," so to speak. However, a little smile lit up his face as he saw the three at his doorstep.

"Come, come! Enter! I have brewed tea!" Norman exclaimed, waving his arms wildly as he beckoned them into his home. A couple of disbelieving stares were sent toward Darren, to which he responded with a nervous smile and the mouthed word _sorry_ as he followed his friend inside. Lorithiel simply shook her head silently and tied Dimpy outside again before entering the house as well.

After several cups of tea, a longer-than-was-hoped-for conversation, and a substantial amount of delirious laughter from the mad man in the room who seemed to find every single thing hilarious, the group felt that their suffering was finally coming to a close. The mage appeared to be getting ready to rise from his chair, and as the trio leaned forward expectantly, he suddenly plopped back down and took another sip of tea.

"Hydrae!" he cried out suddenly, making the others jump. "Fascinating creatures, they are! I've come across a couple in my life time, and.." He continued on, and the group reluctantly slouched back into their chairs again, tuning out most of the information.

_Right,_ Lorithiel thought with a sigh. _Because knowing about hydrae is going to get me closer to finding my family. Sure._

"... grow back with two more heads! The trick with a hydra is, though, that you have to cauterize the head wounds! Then, they can't grow back! Tricky bugger will die once all of its heads are chopped clean off!" he finished, cackling gleefully.

Finally, after a couple of more tea sips, Norman stood up and indicated with another set of crazed hand motions that they should all follow him. Eager to get up from their sore positions, the group quickly rose and stretched, then hurried after the mage as he departed out of his back door.

"Here we are!" Norman was standing in the center of a small garden; many odd plants squirmed and fidgeted within terracotta pots and flower boxes. The group's attention was caught by a particular group of rather vicious looking plants that wriggled around and lashed out at the air around them, coughing up green liquid and drooling all over the soil.

Norman followed their gaze and smiled proudly. "Venom Spitters!" he explained. "Very rare! Imported from the Lost Isles, only able to survive in specific environments—which, given my magical experience, I have been able to simulate—and extremely deadly! However," he said, lowering his tone and pointing at the Venom Spitters, "if you can get close enough, their leaves have miraculous healing qualities. Eating a single leaf will purify the consumer of any and all poisons in their system immediately." He suddenly extended a hand toward the plants and cast a spell, freezing them in place. Gently, he pulled a letter opener out of his pocket and cut a leaf off, then backed away and released the freezing spell.

Lorithiel blinked in surprise, watching as Norman shuffled over to a nearby tool shed. He walked inside and searched around, then came back out with a tube in hand. Slowly and carefully, he began squeezing the tube while dragging it along the leaf. As he did so, a gel oozed out and solidified after a moment, encasing the leaf in a glass-like substance.

"There!" he said with a smile, flicking the coated leaf for good measure. "This will keep the juices in, preserving the leaf." He extended his hand, offering up the item. "Take it; it may prove useful."

Eyebrows arched, Lorithiel slowly reached out and accepted the gift. "... I.. well, thank you, sir. You are much too kind." She tucked the leaf into her satchel.

"Nonsense!" Norman replied with another mad cackle. "Anything for friends! Now wait here a moment while I conjure your portal." He lifted his hands up and closed his eyes, chanting something beneath his breath. Within a few seconds, magic began to swirl around in a circular motion, and before long, a full-fledged portal opened up in front of them. Darren and Koran took a couple of steps toward it, but Lorithiel reached out.

"Wait!" she cried, halting the group. "What about Dimpy? He has our supplies." She turned her worried gaze toward Norman.

The mage tapped his chin for a second, then a light bulb went off in his head. "Ah! Your pony, yes, of course. I had forgotten about him. He will be slightly more difficult to get to Dustwallow, but I will send him through after you in a different portal. You will arrive in Mudsprocket; stay there for about ten minutes, at which point Dimpy should arrive." He suddenly gestured toward the trio hurriedly, ushering them toward the portal again. "Quickly now, quickly! The portal will fade soon if you don't hurry! Watch your step!"

The group walked swiftly toward the portal, Lorithiel taking up the rear. As her friends stepped into the whirlpool of magic, she sent one last glance over her shoulder. "We won't forget your generosity, sir! Truly! Fortune bless you!" she exclaimed, then practically dived into the portal, barely making it in time as the magic closed behind her, nipping at her boots and causing a tingling sensation in her feet as she felt her body twist and contort while she was sent across the ocean.

She landed with a thud on the ground only seconds later, then glanced around at her companions, seeing that they had also reached their destination safely. A small smile flitted across her face. Her lips opened as she addressed her allies.

"So it begins."


	8. Chapter 8 - Eternal Love

Thellandria stood in the center of Cenarion Hold, glancing around distractedly at her surroundings. She furrowed her brows as she lifted her gaze to the sky, wincing against the harsh sunlight that so ruthlessly scorched the desert landscape of Silithus.

Footsteps approached her from behind. "Captain," a female voice spoke in Darnassian. She heard the familiar sound of a posture straightening in a crisp salute.

Thellandria blinked and whirled around, fingering her necklace absently. Before her stood a green-armored night elf woman with long white hair and indigo glaives tattooed across her face. The druid recognized her as Laridel Whisperstrike, a Warden of the Mount Hyjal Barrow Dens. "Er.. sister," she greeted, tilting her head. "What.. what brings you here?" Thellandria's eyes clouded over slightly as she began remembering her time in the Nordrassil Accord military unit, which Laridel had also spent time in. Thellandria had been a Captain of the organization, hence Laridel's manner of greeting, although the Accord had disbanded many months back.

"You are not an easy person to find, Captain, even for a Watcher. I am here on duty I'm afraid. Have you anywhere perhaps more... private in which I can relay a message?"

Thellandria frowned pensively and looked around, still fiddling with her odd necklace. "I.. I don't know." She suddenly narrowed her eyes. "Why should I? Do you think I'm hiding something? I don't see any reason for me to have a private location," she snapped back in an overly defensive manner.

Laridel furrowed a brow upon the druid's aggressive rebuttal. "Is everything alright, sister? Are you ill?" the Warden asked with a worried tone.

Thellandria folded her arms across her chest. "Ill? I am offended by your accusations, so I am apparently 'ill'?" she exclaimed, then clenched her hand around her necklace tightly before softening. "I'm sorry. Of course we can find somewhere more private. I am sure we could just step down the path a little bit, out of earshot."

Laridel perked a brow once more. "I am sorry to have offended you, Captain." She flicked her right ear. "Perhaps we should get this over with." Laridel said with a stern tone. She began to walk up the path, away from the bustling center of the Hold.

"Get what over with? What is it?" Thellandria murmured, scrambling to catch up with the Watcher.

Laridel placed her glaives on the ground and removed her mask. "Hm."

Thellandria raised an eyebrow and momentarily brought her fingers away from her necklace. "Is something the matter? Why have you brought me here?"

"I am certain you have heard by now, but I am the keeper of Fleetsong's will. The will specifically details that you be the last person to receive what they are due," Laridel replied, then tilts her head. "Do you wish to receive what the Shan'do has left you?"

Thellandria furrowed her brows a bit and canted her head to one side. ".. What he has.." She blinked a couple of times. ".. Oh, of course. His will. Yes," she murmured in understanding. "I.. I suppose so. What do you come bearing?"

Laridel nodded, stepping into the shadows and disappearing from sight. After a few seconds, she reappeared. Thellandria 's eyes widened in surprise, but she waited in place until the Warden came back.

Upon her return, Laridel was holding a small lock box in her hand. The box was made of a green oak, bound with sky-steel bands. Laridel offered the small chest as well as a key.

Thellandria blinked slowly, then extended her hands and took the offering. She peered at the chest curiously for a moment, then eventually placed the key into the lock with shaking hands. She took a deep, steadying breath, then turned and opened the box.

Inside the box was a small flute, carved from a white wood. The etchings on the side represented various flowers, commonly found in Ashenvale. Surrounding the flute was an assortment of oddly colored seeds.

Laridel watched closely. "The will asks for you to pour them onto the ground, and play a note on the instrument."

Thellandria 's eyes began to well up with tears, but she swallowed her sorrow back and slowly took the flute out, then stepped outside and let the seeds fall onto the dirt. She then brought to flute up to her lips and played a single note, since she had no real clue how to use the instrument.

After a few more moments, the vines began to shake and form pictures, scenes even. Various depictions were apparent, such as Thellandria's trials as an apprentice.. when Galondel and Thellandria first met.. when they first kissed.. and several other scenes. Above each scene, in Darnassian, the roots formed the words, "My love for you grows."

Laridel huffed slightly at the display. "Hmph. Fitting for a Druid."

Thellandria gasped and stepped back as the seeds began to shake and open. She waited in petrified stillness, watching intently as the roots swirled together into a work of art. When it was complete, she stared at it blankly for a few seconds, then sank to her knees and crawled toward it, stretching her hand out to stroke the vines gently. Tears streamed down her face, soaking the vines in her emotions while quiet sobs shook her body. She said nothing for quite some time, simply tracing her fingers over the scenes.

Laridel knelt beside Thellandria. The stern Watcher placed a single hand on the druid's back. Offering comfort was not something she was accustomed to. "I am sorry for your loss, sister. I truly am."

Thellandria continued tracing her periwinkle digits along the roots, then finally wiped her eyes and looked over her shoulder. "Thank you," she murmured, then slowly stood up. "Are.. are they.. can they.. be used more than once?" she whispered.

Laridel rose and quirked a single eyebrow, then shrugged her shoulders and shook her head. "I do not know. The will does not state whether they can or not. Unfortunately, I must depart. Again, I am sorry for your loss." She adjusted her armor, getting ready to leave. "Is there anything else, Captain?"

Thellandria 's eyes twinkled with sadness, but she soon dipped her head and turned around to offer a half-hearted salute to Laridel. "Nothing, thank you, sister. You have done so much already. Go in peace, and may the Waywatcher forever guide your steps."

"For the Accord." Laridel turned around and exited.

"For the Accord," the druid replied softly, then sighed and traced her fingers around the vines again, murmuring a gentle lullaby to herself. "The stars, they tire and yearn for sleep.." She sniffled and continued caressing the vines. "Oh, moon, stay out and play.." Her voice cracked, and she closed her eyes for a few seconds.

Minutes passed. A small blue wisp appeared in front of the sobbing kaldorei, and she lifted her gaze up to stare at it in amazement. The wisp circled around the druid, teasing her. Thellandria blinked and narrowed her eyes, recognition suddenly flaring up in her gaze. The glowing creature rushed inside a nearby tower and flew up the ramp.

As the wisp floated away, she bolted upright and darted after it. "No, come back! Come back!" she cried desperately. Just as Thellandria reached the top, the wisp vanished into thin air. She cried out in despair and anguish, burying her face in her hands.

Thellandria began to hear various whispers in her ear. The sound was chaotic, but somewhat intriguing—otherworldly, but familiar. Over and over, she heard, "My love for you grows." A thousand little voices repeated the phrase again and again.

The druid tensed up and removed her face from her hands. A chill ran up her spine, and she began to glance around wildly. For most, the sound would seem calming, but she was not quite in the right mental state at the moment. The idea that she could hear so many voices, but could not pinpoint a single one of them drove her mad. She whirled around, darting about the area desperately.

Suddenly, the voices stopped.

Thellandria blinked and froze once they stopped, coming to a panting halt. She perked her ears and looked around, but no sound reached her. Disappointment flooded her gaze, and she once again buried her face in her hands. When she looked up again, she moved closer to the nearby railing, gripping it tightly. Swallowing hard, she began to climb atop it very slowly.

A purple shroud of smoke momentarily covered the ramp. The whispers returned. Instead, this time they spoke, "My love for you is eternal." Very slowly, the faint outline of a person's body began to materialize on the ramp. As time went by, it developed into what appeared to be a transparent, ghost-like Galondel—white hair, amber eyes, druidic antlers and all. It slowly walked up into the upper tower, facing to turn Thellandria, then made its way over and climbed on top of the railing beside her; the spirit reached out his hand as if he were to hold her own. Galondel's facial expression stayed neutral for now. An apparent line was seen on his neck from where the Paladin had taken his head.

Thellandria closed her eyes and let the wind rustle her hair, sending it spilling out backwards behind her. She breathed in the hot air of Silithus, then slowly peered down at the crystalline spikes that seemed to spring up all across the landscape below her. Taking a deep breath, she leaned over a bit, but suddenly saw something out of the corner of her eye. Whipping her head around, she turned to stare at Galondel; out of pure shock, she said nothing. She simply floundered about and stumbled backward, scrambling for support from a nearby pillar.

Galondel's ghostly face followed Thellandria as she stumbled backwards. The spirit's face was riddled with obvious worry. Climbing down and walking beside her, the spirit offered a hand for her to grab so she may step down.

Thellandria silently reached out to grasp his hand, but her fingers slipped through his ghostly flesh. A weak sob escaped her throat, and she closed her eyes for a moment before slowly climbing down from the railing. After a moment, she dared to peer up at him, gazing over his face, watching his features. "I am hallucinating," she murmured.

Galondel's spectral arms extended to rest on the druid's shoulders. It seemed as if the spirit tried to smile, but he simply could not bring himself to do it. His worried gaze continuously shifted into a small grin. The spirit pulled an arm back and used his hand to cover the line across his neck.

The woman swallowed hard and stepped forward, reaching up to touch his face, but of course, her hand once again slipped through. "Please.. tell me you're here. Tell me I haven't gone mad," she begged, bringing her hands up to hug herself, imagining his own arms around her.

The ghost's antler-bearing forehead leaned forward. The clear part of his forehead pressed against Thellandria's. A single tear ran down the spirit's face. He tried to smile, but the woman's concern kept him from doing so. He opened his mouth as if he tried to speak, but it seemed as if he could not choose what words to say.

Thellandria closed her eyes again and shook her head as if to clear it. She took a deep breath and rubbed her temples, then looked up again, expecting to see nothing in front of her. When, in fact, she still saw him, she whined slightly. "I've not gone mad, I've not.." she protested, shaking her head rapidly. "Stop it, stop! Leave me alone," she cried out, then broke down into bitter sobbing. "I've come.. so far.. I can't go mad. Not now. Not yet."

Galondel took a step back, a deep frown covering his face. The spirit looked down at his hands, opening and closing them. He turned his vision up to the female with a sincere and worried gaze. Once again he tried to speak, but stopped before any sound left his lips.

The woman whined to herself in a rather pathetic manner, swiping away at the air as she closed her eyes, trying to fight back at what she was sure was a creeping madness. "Someone is playing a cruel trick on me," she said, whimpering to herself. "I'm not going mad.."

The spirit shook his head once. With an assertive expression, he stepped forward. His spectral hands grasped Thellandria's; he stared into her eyes for a long while before suddenly leaning in and kissing her on the lips. She again felt no physical contact, but the ghost's action served to remind her of past times.

Thellandria looked up in surprise, then melted into his movements, envisioning them to be real, though they were not. She breathed out slowly, lifting her hands up to pass them through Galondel's form a few times. Tingles erupted all along the parts of her arm that entered into his spirit, and she blinked a bit. "Please, tell me you are real. Tell me you are here with me.."

Galondel seemed conflicted. He kept attempting to speak, but something stopped him every time. His amber eyes looked into Thellandria's with a sincere, loving gaze. After a long while, the spirit closed his eyes.

The female druid stared back into his eyes, listening to the whispers filling her ears. She bit her lip and closed her eyes again, drinking in the words. Eventually, she looked back up again. "You know what I have to do," she whispered. "I have to go, Galondel. I have to avenge you. I have to do it."

Galondel's spirit shed another ghostly tear. He took a step back, contemplating what Thellandria had said. He opened his mouth, and for the first time since his death, he spoke in a single, clear voice:

"My love for you has always grown. And now, it is eternal."

Thellandria's eyes overflowed with tears once more; they came cascading down her cheeks, dripping from her chin, and hitting the wooden floor below with silent splashes. She inhaled slowly, then stepped forward. "I will make him pay for what he did to you, Galondel." She reached up and brushed her hand through the part of his neck where the gash was. "He will be sorry. He will never harm another soul again."

Just as Thellandria reached for the gash in his neck and finished speaking, Galondel's spirit vanished into thin air.

Thellandria yelped and scrambled around, turning her gaze to search rapidly for his spirit. "Oh, don't leave me.. don't leave me now.." she murmured, quite the opposite of what she was saying before. Her shoulders slumped down in defeat, and she slowly sank to her knees.

_Was it real?_ _Was it real, or have I truly lost my mind?_


	9. Chapter 9 - Jeopardy

_Shplunk._

Lorithiel gasped as her foot broke through a moldy wooden plank in the unsteady bridge she walked across. Her boot sank into the muddy marshland below, and she growled as she pulled it back out. "Dustwallow," she hissed, swatting away insects as they buzzed around her head. "Disgusting land. I won't be sad to see the back of this place."

Darren grinned a bit and caught up to her, matching her stride. "And what happened to night elves loving all forms of nature?" he asked, poking a bit of fun at her. "A shame upon your kind, you are!"

"Oh, ye'd know all abou' bein' a shame, wouldn't ye?" Koran barked back, lifting his hand to bat away a particularly determined mosquito.

Darren narrowed his eyes, his smile falling. "I was only joking, you great oaf," he shot back, then gestured toward the bugs swarming around Koran. "Look thither! They know a good fat meal when they see one. It's a pity they won't find out until it's too late just how bitter he is! Perpetually bitter."

"A right lot more bitter than you, an' fer good reason! Ye need t'a be more skeptical, or ye'll lose yerself in these marshes. But I wouldn't expect a White t'a know anything abou' common sense."

Darren began to raise his voice in frustration. "Oh, don't you go stirring up such—"

"Quiet!" snapped Lorithiel, glaring back at the men. "Evil lurks in these swamps. They say the land plays home to restless spirits, old witches, great fanged beasts, and men whose hearts are more corrupt than the foulest of demons. Proceed with caution."

The group fell silent, and they continued on their journey down the road for some time, when suddenly Lorithiel stopped. "Did you hear that?" she whispered, glancing around at the gnarled trees.

A twig snapped. "There!" Lorithiel murmured. "There it is again!" She reached slowly to her side, grasping firmly onto the intricate hilt of her dagger. In one swift movement, she pulled her weapon out and held it in front of her defensively. The others followed her example.

An arrowed whizzed past Darren's ear, impaling itself in a tree behind him.

Before the trio knew what was happening, a war cry was bellowed, and a band of hulking, black figures were upon them, hacking away with axes and swords, chanting ancient spells, and shooting frightfully precise arrows. From the looks of it, there were five of them; if the group weren't so distracted, they would have heard a frightened nicker from Dimpy in the back.

"Grimtotem!" Koran shouted, burying his axe deep in an encroaching enemy's skull. Indeed, the invaders were tauren, and they fit the exact description that had been attributed to the Grimtotem tribe—black fur, white and red markings upon the face.

The battle was fierce, but the trio seemed to be starting to come out on top. Darren and Lorithiel struck down one, and when they turned to see Koran, they found him beheading another. Just as the head flew off of Koran's target, another Grimtotem came up behind the unsuspecting Koran, raised its blade, and swung it down with deadly force—

Only to be met with more steel as Darren's own sword clashed against the enemy's. With one more clean swipe, the human drove his weapon straight into the tauren's jugular, ending its life.

Koran whirled around, staring with wide eyes as the tauren clutched its throat and collapsed, lifeless at the dwarf's feet. "Er.. well. Thanks," he said gruffly, nodding once in Darren's direction. Darren replied with an equally terse nod as the faint outline of a grin crept onto his face.

Lorithiel motioned for the group to follow her as she soothed Dimpy and trudged onward. They kept walking for some time until Lorithiel raised a hand to stop; a wooden sign post stood before them. Painted across cheap, splintered wood were sloppy red words, which the night elf read aloud:

"'BEWARE. Entering the Dragonmurk.' Hrm. How welcoming," she commented with a frown, glancing around at the eerie swamp. "As if this place wasn't unsettling enough already."

Despite the sign's warnings, the group actually managed to travel through the area relatively unimpeded—aside from the incessant attacks of mosquitoes. They set up camp in the nearby mountainside and shared stories over a campfire for a little while, then drifted into pleasant sleep. When they woke up the next morning (at least they thought it was morning; it was hard to tell in Dustwallow), they set out again and made it to the Southern Barrens border. They camped out beneath a savannah tree for the night, then departed in the morning, starting the third day of their journey.

"Look at this place," Lorithiel muttered, gesturing toward the enormous crevice that opened up next to them. Clearly, a battle had taken place here, though the crevice was not caused by fighting—rather, it appeared to be the result of Deathwing's destruction. "Even more of the wildlife here has been slain—and the Barrens really can't afford to lose anything, what with the small amount of creatures that can thrive here."

They marched onward for some time, stopping occasionally for a rest under the cooling shade of one of the savannah's few trees. Eventually, as the sun began to set over the arid grasslands of the Barrens, they found themselves looking out over the smoldering ruins of the once vibrant tauren trading village—Camp Taurajo. Its great tents were ripped open, their shreds flying in the evening wind like poor mockeries of formerly proud flags.

"This is... terrible," Lorithiel murmured. "I had heard stories of the acts committed here, but I had no idea the village was so.. desecrated." She furrowed her brows, gazing out at the destroyed landscape.

Darren frowned as well, reaching for the hilt of his sword and laying a firm grasp upon it. "I don't like the look of this place," he commented. "Something about it makes me uneasy."

"Aye," Koran said, also reaching for his weapon. His eyes darted about anxiously. "I agree with ye, Darren." Both Darren and Lorithiel shot wide-eyed stares at him for a moment, and he glanced up briefly before scowling. "I mean," he corrected, clearing his throat, "well that's _obvious,_ innit? Of course ye don't like th'look of a burning, ripped apart village! Honestly, boy, I question yer intellect—if ye even 'ave any at all."

Lorithiel and Darren exchanged amused grins while a flustered Koran grumbled beneath his breath. Lorithiel opened her mouth to speak, but was soon cut off by another voice, causing her to stop dead in her tracks.

"Well, well," a black-garbed human male said from behind the group, making them all whirl around to face him. "What do we have here? Three wayward adventurers, sticking their noses where they don't belong?" He signaled with his hand, and the group heard footsteps approaching from two different directions. Darren and Koran spun around to face two other human enemies—one male, one female—who had now succeeded in surrounding the group. "How about we tell you a little secret?" the leader continued. "People who stick their noses where they don't belong often end up losing noses." He stepped forward and gestured with his dagger toward Lorithiel's nose. "Do you like your nose? I like your nose. I think it would look good with the rest of your head mounted on a wall."

Lorithiel recoiled and snarled at the man, ripping her dagger out of its sheath and pointing it threateningly at the man. "Don't come any closer," she warned shakily, resulting in an eruption of laughter from her enemy. Dimpy, who stood next to Lorithiel, whimpered and shuffled back, bumping into Darren and causing him to curse as he was shoved forward slightly.

Suddenly, a bellow came from behind Lorithiel, startling both her and her attacker. They glanced in surprise at the source of the sound, which turned out to be Koran jumping into the fray. He swung his axe around wildly, beheading the man in front of him and cutting deep into the stomach of the woman near Darren before anyone had time to react.

Lorithiel was so caught off guard that she scarcely noticed a dagger making its way straight for her throat. A split second before the knife dug deep into her neck, she saw Darren hurl his sword straight past her head, and she heard the cringe worthy crunch of a blade embedding itself within flesh. When she turned, she saw the ringleader lying dead on the ground, blood gushing out of a wound in his skull.

"Taurajo looters," Koran spat as he kicked the decapitated head down the road. "Slinky buggers, stealin' from th'dead." He wrinkled his nose in disgust, then heaved a sigh. "Anyway.. shall we keep goin'?"

Lorithiel could manage nothing but a silent nod, absently lifting a hand up to her throat and rubbing it protectively. The group continued walking until dusk, when they found a small spot to set up camp on a hillside. It was not much, but it managed to guard them relatively well from unwelcome eyes.

While the others drifted off into sleep, Lorithiel stood watch and placed a hand on her neck again. She frowned deeply, narrowing her eyes pensively. _I came dangerously close to death today,_ she thought to herself. _What if I'm not so lucky next time? What if everything I do comes to nothing?_ A chill ran down her spine as another idea occurred to her. _What if it isn't my life in jeopardy next time?_

_What if it's the lives of my friends?_

She shivered and squeezed her eyes shut, forcing the thought out of her mind. Her lips parted as she breathed deeply, calming herself before opening her eyes again. She managed to quell her rising agitation for a time, but as she gazed out over the night-cloaked landscape, she could not keep herself from worrying what dangers might lurk in the shadows just below their encampment.


	10. Chapter 10 - A Familiar Voice

Thellandria growled to herself in frustration, taking an angry bite out of a stale loaf. She glanced down at the bread, wrinkling her nose as she forced herself to swallow the piece. Immediately, she opened a canteen and took a gulp of water, desperate to nourish her rapidly drying throat. A beetle crawled out of the sand and onto her toe; normally, she would have allowed such an occurrence, but at the moment, she was extremely peeved—and so, with a flick of her foot, she sent the little insect flying.

The druid had been stuck in Silithus for days, waiting for word that the Paladin had arrived—but no such information made itself apparent. She had anticipated that she might be waiting for a handful of days, but now she was beginning to realize that he may take quite a long time—if he even comes at all. These thoughts were constantly nagging at her mind, making her more and more furious by the moment; they only added to the stress that she was feeling, given the fact that now, she also had to cut back on her money spending, in preparation for the possibility that she may she need to survive out in the desert for a long time... on stale bread, unfortunately.

With one last painful swallow, Thellandria choked down the last bite of her disappointing meal and stood up. She heaved a sigh and washed her "food," if she could call it that, down with a sip of water. As she looked around, her eyesight caught on something peculiar—something golden and, as she looked more closely, blue. A jolt went through her body as it occurred to her that these were Alliance colors. _Alliance?_ she asked herself incredulously. _Out here? There are very few things that could mean. _Hope fluttered within her heart. _One of which would just about make my day._

She narrowed her eyes and peered more closely at the colorful figure, and slowly, a grin began to creep its way onto her lips. _It's him!_ she shrieked inwardly. _By Elune, it's Frederic Bennet!_

Quietly as she could, she crept closer and closer. Had she been paying attention, she would have noticed that Nightwind was nowhere to be seen at the stables, but of course, her thoughts were focused entirely on her prey, who was now tying his steed up nearby. After he finished, he immediately set out on the path leading away from the Cenarion Hold. _Already at it?_ Thellandria said to herself smugly. _Too greedy, prideful, and ignorant to even remove your armor before entering the desert. I suppose that will pose a bit more of a problem for me, but nothing more than I can handle._

It was hard to remain hidden once the two of them were out in the wide open sandy plains of Silithus, so she had to do her best to use what scarce contraptions the insect-like Silithid inhabitants had constructed. Most of them, if not all, were either odd hive-towers or structures that looked much like enormous insect legs sticking out of the ground, so the experience was not exactly pleasant for the druid—but nevertheless, she did what she needed to.

Eventually, Frederic seemed satisfied with his location, and he began looking around for traces of ancient items. Eagerly, Thellandria approached him with a strangely calm and pleased aura. Her feet sank silently into the sand with each step, and it was not until she spoke that her presence was made known.

"Earl Frederic Bennet," she began, causing him to nearly jump out of his skin and look up.

"Who are you? What do you want?" he demanded sourly, wiping a few beads of perspiration from his forehead, as he had already started to melt in his sweltering plate armor.

Thellandria's expression twisted into an amused smirk. "What? You don't recall me?" she taunted, reaching into her bag and pulling out a small scarab figurine—the same one that she had used to bait Frederic into Silithus in the first place. She inspected it and nonchalantly tossed it up and down in her hand for a moment, then suddenly flung it directly at the Paladin. Before he even had time to react, it collided with his plate armor and shattered. "Simple clay, crafted a couple of days prior to its purchase. This is the first time it has been on the same continent as the ancient Silithid empire here, never mind within this very desert." She waited a moment, then decided to add insult to injury by making things painfully obvious. "It's a _fake_," she said in a pretend whisper.

Frederic blinked a few times, clearly not understanding what was happening; he knelt down and picked up one of the fragments of the scarab figurine, then slowly but surely began to turn a bright red. With one swift (albeit clunky) movement, he rose to his feet and drew his sword, which glinted hot in the searing sun. "You've tricked me," he hisses. "You've tricked me!" he repeats, much louder this time. "Why would you do such a thing? I'll make you pay dearly, you wretched elven mongrel!"

Thellandria's smirk once again spread into a grin. "You poor, poor fool," she murmured, stepping closer to him. "You greedy, predictable bastard. I knew it would be easy to get you out here on your own." She narrowed her eyes, still slowly walking toward him. "Out here on your own," she says again, "where no one will ever think to look for you, and even if they did... the sandstorms here are fickle, and they can bury a man yards deep beneath the dunes."

The Paladin's eyes widened in fear, and he took a few hesitant steps back. "Wh-who are you?" he asked again. "I won't ask you again! I.. I demand you tell me im-immediately!" He tried to muster up as much authority as he could, but it clearly was not working.

Closer still Thellandria came. "Does the name 'Fleetsong' sound familiar?" she inquired, and she laughed inwardly as she saw him blanch visibly at the mention of his victim's name. "Yes, I suspect it does. Well," she continued quietly, pausing for only a moment, "he was my mate. The child I spoke of when we met not long ago in Stormwind City? It is his." She stopped for a few seconds, allowing the information to sink in; and sink in it did, for she could clearly see recognition and terror dawn on his arrogant face.

"You're Thellandria." He bit his lip. "What do you want from me?" he squeaked. "Name your price, and I will meet it!" His desperation entertained Thellandria, and she chuckled a bit.

"What do I want?"

"Tell me! Whatever it may be!"

"_... Revenge._"

Frederic's face went blank, and all color drained from it. He opened his mouth a few times, but no sound came out for some time. Eventually, his face hardened a bit, and he stood up a bit straighter. "You think you can just put me down like a scared dog?" He laughed snidely. "I slaughtered your mate like the Horde-sympathizing beast he was; your treatment will be no different. You're simply the weaker version of him. You're a Druid of the Antler, no? At least Fleetsong was a Talon—he posed a bit of a challenge. But an _Antler?_ What are you going to do, heal me to death?"

Thellandria let out an amused huff, watching him brandish his sword at her. "You were able to bring him down because you had your men to back you up." She glanced around the desert, gesturing to it. "Do you see your men? Because I don't." She smirked in satisfaction as he grew slightly sheepish again. "Come, then," she welcomed. "Let us see how well the gallant and valorous Frederic Bennet can stand up against a druidic savage-woman." Sarcasm dripped from her tongue like venom, stinging him with each word.

The Paladin snarled and leaped forward, raising his sword as he charged. Sweat clung to his skin from the effort he had to exert just to run in his heavy plate armor. Despite his exhaustion, however, he was soon directly before Thellandria, swinging his sword down upon her with great purpose in his movements.

The druid jumped away nimbly at the last moment, then let her rage fuel her as she took the offensive. Hatred clouded her gaze; she lifted her hands up, then blindly shot a blast of natural energy at the man—but in fact, she did not.

She blinked in amazement and fear as she realized that she had only sent a small bolt, which shocked Frederic, but did little damage whatsoever. She tried to send a beam of moonfire down upon him, but yet again, her attack did nothing more than blind him for a few moments and heat up his armor a bit.

"Having issues with your filthy pagan gods and goddesses?" Frederic taunted, letting out another laugh as he once again readied himself to charge. "You're even weaker than I thought. I suppose the Fleetsong idiot never thought to teach you anything." He ran at his adversary, lifting his sword again and bringing it down upon her.

Thellandria shrieked and stumbled backward, swallowing hard as her gaze went up to meet his. She saw nothing but spite and disgust in his eyes as he prepared to end her life. Her heart began to beat faster and faster, but she closed her eyes and forced calm upon herself.

_Galondel, my sweet_, she thought, relishing her memories. _I come for you, finally._ She heard the sound of a sword swinging through the air, then felt the impact of the blade hitting her lower neck, striking hard and true.

Suddenly, she felt an explosion of power erupt from the place where his weapon had connected with her body. She heard a startled cry accompanied by the clinking of plate armor, and she looked up hesitantly. What she saw made her eyes widen and her jaw drop.

Flames spewed forth from her chest, arching upward and striking down upon the Paladin, scalding him and cooking him alive in his plate armor. His screams of agony lasted for a few seconds more, and then he fell silent.

Thellandria glanced down at her chest, feeling as if her heart was about to burst through her ribcage. Once the flames finished their job, they retracted and pulled back toward her chest. She watched, mystified, as they disappeared inside her necklace, which gave off a little twinkle before resuming its quiet, inconspicuous composure.

Breathing heavily, she stared at the amulet intently, feeling emptiness replace some of the hatred and rage she had felt earlier. "I..." she murmured quietly. ".. I defeated him. I've gotten revenge." She reached up to gently pet the orange pendant; it gave her an odd sense of calmness and security. ".. I.. have no purpose.."

"That isn't entirely true," a familiar voice said behind her. She whirled around, disbelief filling her gaze as she laid eyes upon who stood before her.

"… _Rishe Clawfern?_"


	11. Chapter 11 - A New Addition

A mosquito flew through a thick-canopied jungle, darting through leaves and through loops of vines. It lowered itself closer to the ground, honing in on a potential source of food. Once it got close enough, it landed on a hairy arm and prepared to feast.

Just in the nick of time, a hand came down upon the insect, squashing it before it had the chance to eat.

"Uhrk, I _hate_ jungles. Too many damned bugs lookin' fer a meal. I'm not a bloody restaurant, ye know!" Koran grumbled sourly, wiping his dirty hand on his leg.

"The Overgrowth isn't that large; I doubt it will even be midday when we get out," Lorithiel replied, glancing around at her surroundings.

"Bah!" came Darren's voice from behind them. They turned around to find him scrambling to untangle himself from a set of low-hanging vines. "_If_ weget out!" he corrected; Koran and Lorithiel exchanged grins, then helped him out of his predicament.

Lorithiel gave Dimpy a pat on the snout as the trio continued their way onward; the pony was not doing particularly well in this environment—it had many of the irredeemable qualities of Dustwallow, but with even more tricks and traps lying in wait for them all. _At least it's much prettier,_ Lorithiel reasoned with herself. Looking around, she took in the view and admired just how beautiful the Overgrowth really was. _If only everything in it wasn't out for our blood,_ she thought with a frown.

Some time later, they emerged from the shrubbery and stopped dead in their tracks. The Great Divide stood before them in all of its glory, splitting the Barrens in half and thus interrupting their journey.

Lorithiel bared her teeth in annoyance, seeing that there was no way of passing over. "I had hoped they would have built a bridge of some sort by now..." she grumbles, agitation causing her to grit her teeth.

"How d'ye s'pose we get across?" Koran asked with a grimace, gazing out over the hundreds of feet that now stood between them and the rest of their adventure. "We can't exactly fly." He glanced over at Lorithiel briefly. "Well, maybe you can." He rolled his shoulders in a shrug.

Lorithiel quirked a brow and fixed Koran with a curious stare. "... What on Azeroth makes you think I know how to fly?" she inquired, folding her arms across her chest.

Koran raised his hands defensively. "I dunno! Ye're an elf! Elves do weird things like that!" He blinked and shuffled his feet awkwardly. "Er, uh, no offense or anythin'," he added, gulping.

"Yeah, none taken," Lorithiel replied dryly, then cracked a grin and patted Koran on the shoulder. "At any rate, you're right; we can't fly."

"Actually," Darren said, causing Lorithiel and Koran to dart their gazes over to the young man. "Maybe we can." He scratched the back of his head and frowned a bit, looking at a vine lying on the ground. "Though it would be difficult."

Koran made his way up to Darren and took a closer look at where Darren was staring. "... Are you suggesting that we somehow _swing_ our way across?" he exclaimed incredulously. "That's not just_ difficult_—that's _impossible!_"

Lorithiel joined the two of them and narrowed her eyes, then shook her head. "No, Koran, look—I don't think that's what Darren is suggesting at all. Watch." Quietly, she reached down to the ground and picked up a small pebble. Squinting her eyes and aiming, she tossed the pebble toward the vine.

Quick as a hare, the vine jumped to life and began flailing around wildly, searching for the source of the disruption. Koran gasped and scrambled back instinctively, then stared wide-eyed.

"By Muradin's beard!" he cried out. "I'd heard stories, but I thought they were nonsense!"

"Not nonsense," Lorithiel replied. "Completely true, for better or worse. Darren," she says, turning to face the man, "come with me; we need to gather some large leaves." She glanced over her shoulder at Koran. "As for you, I need you to stay here and keep an eye on Dimpy and the vine," she instructed, then departed into the undergrowth.

Koran shuddered and winced, watching the vine spin around and lash out at anything and everything around it. While the others were gone, it killed at least three birds and two squirrels, Koran was sure.

Eventually, Lorithiel and Darren came back, carrying enormous leaves with them. They looked to be as long as Koran and Darren's heights combined, and as wide as all three of them standing next to each other.

".. What are we doing with those?" Koran asked suspiciously, not exactly liking the direction that this was going in.

"Parachutes," Lorithiel responded simply. She handed one of the leaves to Koran, another to Darren, and kept three for herself. "I'll be taking Dimpy with me," she explained, then turned to point at the vine. "Darren, you know the plan. Let's show Koran what we've been talking about."

Darren nodded once and took a deep breath, then ran at full speed toward the vine. Koran yelled in protest, but Darren pushed on until he reached the creature, which promptly picked him up and began tossing him around.

Lorithiel approached the vine and narrowed her eyes at it, waiting for the right moment, then raised her dagger and drove it into the vine's side before jumping out of range again. The vine immediately released out of pain; the momentum sent Darren hurtling across the Great Divide.

Koran hollered and ran to the edge of the cliff, watching as Darren soared farther and farther. After a few seconds, he lifted his hands up above his head, allowing the leaf to spread out above him. In a couple of moments, he landed safely on the ground of the far side.

"Wha.. buh.." Koran stammered, then spun around to give Lorithiel a deadpan stare.

"You're next, milady," the woman offered, bowing and gesturing to the vine with a smirk. She watched with an amused glint in her eye as Koran grumbled to himself and stepped forward warily, gripping his leaf tightly.

When the dwarf was in range, the vine snatched him up like a toy and began whipping him around. Again, Lorithiel struck and jumped back, while Koran was tossed across the gap. He screamed for a few seconds, then finally remembered to lift his leaf up.

Lorithiel grinned to herself as she watched him float down and meet up with Darren on the other side. She took a deep breath and steadied herself, then climbed atop Dimpy, who was clearly terrified. "Trust me," she whispered into the reluctant pony's ear, then led him slowly toward the vine.

It sensed her presence and turned toward her, flailing around threateningly. Still, she pressed on, holding her three leaves close to her chest protectively. Swiftly, the vine grabbed Dimpy and proceeded to thrash violently. Lorithiel waited for the right moment, then dug her dagger deep into the vine one last time.

She and Dimpy sailed through the air, leaving the Overgrowth behind them; the wind pushed their hair back and forced them to squint against the sharp, biting feeling of the harsh breeze. Lorithiel looked down, gasping inwardly as the magnitude of what she was doing hit her. She swallowed hard, but forced herself to look up again; taking a deep breath, she brought her hands up above her head, letting the leaves guide her safely across the Great Divide.

About halfway across, she heard a ripping sound and glanced up, then paled. One of her leaves had begun to tear, and as she watched, it gave way completely. She and Dimpy plunged toward the far side at an alarming rate, and just when she thought they might make it, she heard another ripping sound. The increase in speed had caused another one of the leaves to rip and tear.

With a screech, Dimpy and Lorithiel collided with the land and were sent sprawling. Footsteps sounded nearby as Darren and Koran rushed over; their faces loomed above Lorithiel as she groaned and opened her eyes, which she had squeezed shut upon impact with the ground.

"Are ye alright?" Koran asked, checking her over. "Are ye hurt? Anythin' broken?"

Lorithiel let out another pained groan, but shook her head. "No.. I don't think I broke anything," she said, taking a deep breath and, with much effort, sitting up. "Dimpy!" she exclaimed suddenly, worry flooding her features.

"Dimpy looks fine to me. A little sore, perhaps, and maybe a few scratches, but he's safe overall," Darren replied, pointing at the pony, who was climbing to his feet, though it looked like quite the struggle.

Lorithiel puffed a sigh of relief. "Thank Elune," she murmured, then pushed herself to her feet, wincing as her body protested to every movement. "Shall we continue?" She pulled out a map and glanced at it, then pointed in a northwestern direction. "We should skirt around the west side of the Crossroads, then reconnect with the Gold Road and.."

"Er.." Koran interrupted, scratching the back of his neck and exchanging a glance with Darren. "We've.. got a bit o' a setback. We cannae exactly go.. directly up t'a Ashenvale."

Lorithiel narrowed her eyes. "What do you mean? Why not?" she demanded, folding up her map and frowning.

Darren spoke up, wringing his hands. "Well.. we don't have any supplies."

Lorithiel blinked once, then twice, then three times. "... Excuse me? We stocked up before we left the last Alliance-friendly settlement. Why don't we have supplies? Where are they?"

Koran bit his lip, then motioned for her to follow him. He walked over to the edge of the Great Divide, then pointed downward. "There they are," he said, and as Lorithiel looked down, she saw a few boxes and bags burning to ash in the lava below.

She let out an agitated sigh, then rubbed her eyes. "They must have fallen off of Dimpy after the ripped leaves threw us off balance," she muttered, then took a deep breath and turned around. "Very well.. to Ratchet, then."

The group trudged eastward with relative ease, sorting through what few supplies they had left as they traveled for the neutral goblin port town. It was evening by the time they got there, but the streets were still bustling with energy. They found their way to the inn, then tied Dimpy up outside and stepped in for a meal and sleeping arrangements.

They had just sat down at a table when a woman approached them. She was a draenei—tall, with greenish blue skin and curly, silvery hair with a hint of aqua. Horns twisted around her head, forming "C" shapes on each side. She wore chain mail, and her weapons of choice were two silver hammers, enchanted so that fiery orbs floated around them in circles.

"Pardon me," she began with a thick accent. "Do any of you know the best way to Ashenvale? I need to go through it to reach Mount Hyjal, but I don't fancy any encounters with the Horde on the way there."

The trio exchanged glances, and after a moment, Lorithiel spoke up. ".. Actually, funnily enough, we're on our way there as well. Would you care to join us?" she offered, smiling candidly. "We would be honored to have you, miss.. er...?" She tilted her head curiously.

The draenei blinked in surprise, then offered a polite bow. "Nahiri is my name," she replied, then scratched the back of her head in thought. "It is.. so very kind of you to allow me on your trip. I was not expecting such an offer, but.. I simply cannot refuse!" She beamed gratefully, then gestured to the seats. "Do you mind if I sit down?"

"Of course, of course!" Koran exclaimed boisterously. "By all means, come an' chat. Say, why is it ye're lookin' t'a go t'a Mount Hyjal?" he inquired, taking a mouthful from his mug.

Nahiri made herself comfortable, then pulled out a map of Mount Hyjal. "You see," she said, pointing to the southern half of the region, "this area here was the one that Ragnaros invaded. Though heroes have long since vanquished our enemies in the Firelands, the presence of fire elementals is still strong. The druids have been slowly nursing the land back to what it used to be, but there are still flames to be found there." She lowered her voice. "In fact, I hear that there are still some loyalists who call themselves Druids of the Flame. Their order was greatly damaged in the war, but a handful remain."

She shook her head, rolling her map back up again and stuffing it into her bag. "At any rate, the reason I'm going is because I'd like to work on my abilities with the element of fire. I've been practicing as well as I can, but my skills just aren't what I would like them to be. I think I need to get some first-hand experience out in the wilderness if I want to become adept."

Lorithiel nodded slowly, listening to Nahiri's words. "Do you have any power when it comes to fire?" She blushed faintly. "That came out the wrong way. I don't mean to question your credibility at all; I'm just wondering if you have a base to work off of."

"Oh, yes," Nahiri replied with a dip of her head. "I've been practicing, so I suppose I know _some_ spells; I just feel like I need more if I want to truly master the art. I don't feel confident in my abilities—not at all."

The group continued talking for some time longer, sharing their stories of adventure until finally, they decided it would be best to turn in for the night. They slept well, excited at the prospect of what was awaiting them.

In the morning, they woke up feeling fresh; with a new spring in their step, they set out westward, then angled up and around the Crossroads, being sure to remain at a safe distance. Eventually, they made their way back toward the Gold Road, but just as they were preparing to rejoin it, they halted.

"Horde," Darren growled, watching as large caravan made its way down the road. Dozens of wagons of all types were slowly traveling southward, in the direction of the Crossroads.

Lorithiel frowned slightly. "Well, that poses a problem," she muttered, then pulled out her map and perused it before glancing over her shoulder. "We could head west. There's a pleasant little oasis over there," she said, pointing away from the road. "We could loop around that way, then reconnect with the Gold Road once we've passed the travelers."

The group agreed and took the detour through the oasis. They had to silence a few centaurs here and there along the way, but overall, the trip went smoothly. Eventually, they came upon the pond at the center. They were walking past it when Nahiri halted suddenly.

"Stop," the draenei commanded in an urgent whisper. The group turned around, giving her a curious stare. "Something moved. There, in the water." She pointed at the rippling surface.

Lorithiel leaned over and lifted an eyebrow skeptically. "Are you sure? I don't see anything.." She waited for a moment, then shook her head. "I think we're fine. Let's keep moving." Nahiri sighed a bit, but followed nonetheless.

Within seconds, the pond erupted violently, as if an explosion had been set off below the surface. Water sprayed everywhere, drenching the group of adventurers; Dimpy whinnied and hid behind a tree. As the mist cleared, a bellowing serpentine head reared back, letting out a howl—and then two more heads rose with the first.

"Hydra!" Darren hollered, drawing his sword. The beast set its eyes on him and charged, leaning forward as if to pluck the man's head right off. A sword was all it found, for Darren beheaded it right then and there. It let out a wail and collapsed backward.

Lorithiel approached Darren and patted him on the back. "Nice job! Let's get out of here, shall w—"

Another, more monstrous roar assaulted their ears, sending chills down their spines. They all turned, horror struck, as the great creature climbed to its feet and lifted its heads again—except this time, there were four instead of the previous three.

With growls, Koran and Darren both leaped up, chopping three of the four heads off in a flurry. The fourth one leaned back defensively, until the entire body crumpled into a defeated heap. The group breathed deep, relieved sighs, then froze.

Yet again the beast had arisen, and fury was evident in each of its twisted faces—all seven of them.

"What do we do?" Lorithiel shrieked, drawing her dagger and gripping it tightly with clammy fingers. Suddenly, a certain mad mage's words came back to her:

_... grow back with two more heads! The trick with a hydra is, though, that you have to cauterize the head wounds! Then, they can't grow back! Tricky bugger will die once all of its heads are chopped clean off!_

"FIRE!" Lorithiel shouted, whirling around to address her comrades. "We need to cauterize the wounds with fire! That's the only way!" Her wild gaze flicked around, searching for some source of flames. Her eyes settled upon Nahiri, who quickly caught her stare.

".. Oh, I.. I don't know, I'm not that skilled, I don't know if I can—" Nahiri began, but she was quickly cut off by a sweep of the hydra's tail, which she barely managed to dodge.

Lorithiel hurried over to the draenei and took her by the shoulders. "We need you, Nahiri! You're our only hope! None of us know how to wield fire!" she exclaimed frantically. Another tail sweep came by, tossing Lorithiel up against a rock and stunning her.

Nahiri breathed deeply, then tightened her fists into balls. "Darren, Koran, decapitate them!" she yelled; they complied, and one by one, each head was struck down. Nahiri called upon the element of fire, summoning flames with as much vigor as she could muster. Dripping with sweat and gasping for breath, she swung her fists, pounding each of the headless necks until all that remained was a collection of seven stumps connected to a dead body.

Soaked and exhausted, the three made their way back to Lorithiel, who was rubbing her head and stretching her back. The four of them gathered up their belongings, pulled a terrified Dimpy out from behind his hiding tree, then stumbled off. They made camp for the night on a mountainside after they had exited the oasis.

The following morning, they reconnected with the Gold Road and traveled it all the way up to the Mor'shan Rampart, where they veered off to the east and began making their way northward in search of a passage.

Lorithiel led them through the mountains that stood as stoic borders between the savannahs of the Barrens and the forests of Ashenvale. They stopped every few minutes to let Koran pick away at whatever precious rock or ore he found, but Lorithiel was sure to keep everyone moving at a quick pace. She knew of the small valley that separated the mountains, though it was barely an opening at all, tiny as it was; the Horde had built a flimsy wooden wall there, but they had not maintained it, and it had long since been broken down.

Silently, the group trudged on through the mountain pass, with nothing but sheer rock walls surrounding them. Finally, Lorithiel reached the broken wall and climbed through, then raised her eyes and stood still, dumbfounded by what she saw.

_My home_, she thought to herself, kneeling down and feeling the lush grass beneath her feet. _My beautiful home.. how I have missed you._

Before her were the vast, thick woodlands of Ashenvale, stretching out as far as the eye could see, and much farther. Great violet-and-emerald-leaved oaks towered over blossoming saplings; deer frolicked across the grassy clearings; sapphire ponds glinted magically with each gentle brush of the wind; wisps danced with each other as they sped under branches and through bushes, filling the air with their tinkling laughter.

_I have come back for you... and for the secrets that lie shrouded in your majestic shade._


	12. Chapter 12 - A Fiery Personality

"I don't understand," Thellandria said, furrowing her brows and shaking her head in confusion. "Why did you come? How did you know I was here?" She wrung her hands together nervously. "Who has sent you?" she asked, beginning to fear that they were, in fact, here to arrest her for murdering Frederic Bennet.

Rishe had an arm around her shoulder, guiding her as they walked across the desert; Rishe's brother, Lirandil, followed behind the two women, keeping an eye out for unwelcome attention. "We were just so worried about you, sister," Rishe explained. "We simply had to follow you."

Thellandria narrowed her eyes, a frown forming upon her lips. "You _followed_ me?" she repeated incredulously.

"A necessity," Rishe replied, nodding her head. "We're terribly sorry if we have offended you; we had no intention of doing so." She gestured to a tent that they had reached. "Here, come inside. Relax." She ushered the somewhat reluctant druid into the tent, sitting her down on a stool.

"I.. I'm sorry," Thellandria murmured, hanging her head. "I feel terrible; I haven't even thanked you. Your necklace saved me back there." She reached down and rubbed the pendant softly. "What an odd little trinket it is."

Rishe nodded, then flicked a finger at Lirandil, who dipped his head and secured the tent flap shut, keeping the sunlight out. "Yes.. it is an unusual family heirloom, but it is undeniably useful, as I'm sure you can attest to." She offered a small smile.

Thellandria peered down at the orange amulet, then nodded slowly. "Indeed, I can. If I didn't have this, I would have been dead." She grimaced, remembering why exactly it was that she needed the necklace's aid. "... My powers, they.. they are no longer what they used to be. I'm not sure what happened, but.. it is as if nature is rejecting me somehow." She massaged her forehead. "Perhaps it is the stress, or the arid climate. Nature might have a hard time reaching me here," she reasoned, but deep inside, she knew that neither of those suggestions were the problem. Stress and climate had never drastically altered her abilities before.

Silence filled the room for a moment, until Rishe spoke up. "I heard about what that Paladin did to your mate," she said; Thellandria wondered briefly how the woman had recognized the Paladin as Frederic Bennet, but the curiosity was soon forgotten. "How awful; he deserved what you gave him," Rishe reassured, then fixed Thellandria with an intense stare. "There are so many in the world just like him."

Thellandria blinked, glancing up to meet Rishe's gaze. "Er, yes.. I suppose there are," she offered in response, feeling a bit intimidated.

Rishe leaned in slightly closer. "The world has become corrupt and impure, with heathens tromping around everywhere you turn. Does the world not annoy you?" She looked down at the druid's orange pendant for a moment before looking back up to Thellandria's face again. "Does it not.. enrage you?"

"Ehm.. I'm not.. I mean I don't really.." Thellandria stuttered, unsure about how to respond. Yes, people did tend to frustrate her sometimes, but she would not go so far as to simply say "the world" as a whole was at fault. "I don't think I'd say that, no."

"Ah, but think about it! No matter where you look, greed and evil lurks around you, no?" Rishe prompted. "There are very few on Azeroth who remain worthy and unspoiled. You are one of those few, aren't you?"

Thellandria's expression darkened; she disliked the current topic of conversation. Hopefully, it would change soon. "I suppose I would like to think so, yes, but—"

"Our world is ruined by the terrible people who populate it!" Rishe interrupted. She shot a meaningful glance in Lirandil's direction, then leaned forward even further, dropping her voice to a whisper. Her eyes glinted excitedly, and when her lips parted, that same fanatic enthusiasm oozed out from her words:

"This world must be purged."

Thellandria jumped in shock and stumbled backward, nearly falling off of her stool. Rishe stepped forward, offering her hand out.

"Join us," she crooned, reaching out further as if emphasizing the transaction even more. "Let us burn this world to ashes, from which an even more beautiful forest can be reborn. Let us take action against those who have wronged you."

Thellandria eyed Rishe's hand warily, then pulled back and began to stand up. "I'm sorry, sister, I think it is time for me to leave—"

"No," came Rishe's swift yet stern reply. She gestured to Lirandil, who immediately bound Thellandria's wrists in tight ropes.

"Hey!" the druid protested, squirming violently. "What do you think you're doing?" Her demand was meant to sound fierce, but her voice wavered and cracked. "Sister Clawfern, please, I don't understand what—"

Rishe raised a finger to the druid's lips; the violet-haired woman's hands were almost scalding. "I am not Rishe Clawfern," she hissed, then stepped back, as did Lirandil. Thellandria might have been able to run, but not only was she surrounded; she was also utterly thunderstruck.

Rishe and Lirandil both burst into columns of flame, momentarily blinding Thellandria. When she dared to open her eyes again, she saw the two siblings standing beside each other—but their appearance had her astounded.

Rishe's hair had turned scarlet, while her brother's had become a deep charcoal black. Their skin took on the shade of burnt vermilion, with intricate golden designs tattooed over their bodies. Rishe's fire-like facial tattoos, which had intrigued Thellandria so much when she had first seen them, now glowed a bright orange, practically coming to life on her cheeks. Both siblings wore armor with flames leaping out of every crevice imaginable, licking at the air around them, heating the tent up to an uncomfortable degree.

"I am Rishe Claw_flame_," Rishe finished, then stepped forward and shoved Thellandria back down onto the stool. "You are such a disappointment; did you know that?" she inquired. "It took Lirandil and I so much to get to this point." Thellandria narrowed her eyes and this, and Rishe laughed.

"What, you think this was all happenstance? Goodness, no. First, we had to knock down your hippogryph; then, we had to get you to accept Nightwind, who kept an eye on you for us and let us track your location; then, we had to give you the necklace—which, let me tell you, was not the easiest to craft—so that it could feed on your anger and drive you to fury..." Rishe heaved a sigh and shook her head. "Honestly, you were a piece of work. And now what? We're going to have to do it the hard way anyhow? Really, you've disappointed us."

Thellandria glared at Rishe, suddenly feeling the desire to gouge the woman's eyes out. She suppressed her anger, however; she knew that her fury was exactly what Rishe wanted. Quick as a flash, she stood up and threw a single kick upward, catching the woman in the ribcage.

"You _wretch!_" Rishe screamed, but Thellandria was already bursting through the tent door, fleeing.

The desert stretched on forever on all sides; there was no where to run. _No where to run_, Thellandria repeated to herself. _But plenty of places to fly._ She knelt down and concentrated hard, trying to commune with nature. She could hear the flaps of the tent being pushed aside, and the sands of Silithus being stomped on. Her heart seemed like it would jump out of her chest, but she felt herself shifting, changing, entering her avian form. Her arms began to form into wings, breaking the rope restraints that had been tied around her wrists; hope flared inside her, and she could sense her freedom standing just there, on the horizon, coming closer and closer.

"Ragnaros will rise again, and with him, so too shall the Druids of the Flame."

Something hard struck her in the back of the head, and her world went black.


	13. Chapter 13 - Song of the Sparrow

"Well, friends," Nahiri said, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. "It's.. it's been very nice meeting you all. I wish you the best of luck on your journey." She dipped her head and faced the fork in the road that stood before them; one path led west to Astranaar, while the other headed north past Raynewood Retreat.

Darren scratched the back of his head. "Do you plan on going all the way through Felwood, then loop back down around through Winterspring in order to reach Mount Hyjal? That seems like an awfully long way."

Nahiri shook her head. "Why no, no!" she replied, running her fingers through her hair briefly. "I'm going to climb." She pointed upward. Through the few small breaks in the canopy above, the group could see glimpses of the sheer rock wall that stretched thousands of yards high up to the top of Mount Hyjal.

"... What?" Darren, Koran, and Lorithiel all questioned in unison, their eyes wide with disbelief.

Nahiri smiled a bit sheepishly. "Well.. yes." She waves her hands defensively. "It's not as bad as it seems! I'm a shaman," she explains. "I am one with the elements. The rocks and the wind won't let me fall; they are my family. They love me, as I love them." The other three still seemed skeptical, but eventually, they admitted defeat.

"Ye were a fine addition t'a our team, lass," Koran said, bowing low. "It was an honor t'a fight by yer side. I hope ye do well; I'm sure ye will." The others nodded in agreement, each offering their own bows and salutes. Dimpy waddled over to Nahiri and nuzzled her palm affectionately, then lumbered back over to Lorithiel, who gave him a gentle pat on the head.

And so Nahiri and her comrades parted ways, the shaman heading northward for Hyjal while the trio remained westbound. Lorithiel, Koran, and Darren continued on for a while longer, then camped by the side of the road once they were a safe distance away from the carnage of lava that used to be a beautiful portion of Ashenvale—before the Cataclysm. They shared tales and jokes around their campfire for a while, but they were tired, and soon, sleep took them.

"_Wait for me!" Lorithiel called, laughing as she ran after a graceful doe. The doe slowed down a bit, and Lorithiel smiled. "I'm coming!" She reached out, almost touching the doe, when it turned its head toward something nearby._

_Lorithiel followed the doe's gaze, and her eyes widened. A forest fire had erupted, and it was quickly eating away at the undergrowth. Lorithiel and her companion were frozen with fear; within seconds, the fire jumped forward and burst between the two, separating them._

_As quickly as it had started, the fire died down, leaving nothing but the haze of smoke. Lorithiel squinted, trying to find the doe, but it was no where to be seen. She lifted her gaze to the sky, where there was a break in the canopy, and was startled by what she saw there._

_The doe had taken flight and was ascending rapidly, soaring over the treetops. As Lorithiel watched, it bounded into the clouds, which promptly shrouded it. Moments later, the clouds that it had disappeared into began to shift and move; before Lorithiel's very eyes, the clouds transformed into the shape of the doe._

_Lorithiel was not quite sure why, but she felt sadness and a sense of loss, as well as security—it was as if the doe was watching over her, protecting her. She suddenly noticed that there was something in her hand. She could feel it; it was a figurine of sorts, and it had somewhat sharp edges, with strange grooves and ridges lining the edges of two protruding surfaces. She began to lower her head, wanting to inspect the item to find out what it was._

"LORITHIEL!"

At the sound of Darren's voice, Lorithiel gasped and jerked awake, jumping to her feet immediately. The sky up above the trees was a soft magenta-violet color, signaling the arrival of dawn. The forest was waking up; birds twittered in the trees, azure waters trickled down streams, and beastly roars filled the air, accompanied by tribal war cries.

_Wait, what?_ Lorithiel thought suddenly. She whirled around, ripping her dagger out of its sheath, preparing for danger, though she did not know what it was that she would find.

Lo and behold, a patrol of furbolgs had stumbled across the trio, and they were currently locked in battle with Darren and Koran. Lorithiel let out a frustrated groan, then charged at the creatures, slicing through their ranks with her weapon. The enemies were almost defeated when Lorithiel yelped in pain and spun around.

One of the furbolgs had sneaked up behind her and had driven a blade deep into her left arm; she lashed out her with right arm, using her dagger to slit the beast's throat, then slid to the ground, clutching her wound. She squeezed her eyes shut and listened as the last of the furbolgs' roars fell silent.

"Bloody Ligh', did 'e get a piece of ye?" Koran called over, rushing to see her injury. Darren followed close behind.

Lorithiel swallowed hard, rather unused to the pain. She had suffered a few wounds before—after all, she grew up for thousands of years in the forests—but this was altogether different. This was sharp and brutal, splitting her flesh wide open, making her cringe and grit her teeth every time she shifted her arm. She had very little experience when it came to dealing with these types of situations.

"I.. I'll be fine," Lorithiel managed to lie, though it was a fairly poor lie, and it was obvious that no one, especially not herself, believed it. "I just need a bandage of some sort... a spare cloth will do.."

Darren shook his head. "No," he protested, waving his hand dismissively. "We were going to take the road at a leisurely pace, but we can't do that anymore. None of us have healing abilities, and we need to get that looked at. Who knows what sorts of.. of.. _things_," Darren said, unable to find a prettier word, "the Furbolgs put on the sword that cut you?"

He once again shook his head. "No, we'll wrap you up in this—" He ripped a piece of cloth from his blue cloak and tied it around Lorithiel's arm. "—then take you as quickly as we can to Astranaar. We can't risk that cut festering."

The group set out for Ashenvale at a swift speed, hurrying west on the road to Astranaar. Dimpy struggled along, weighed down by the heavy burdens of everyone's supplies, but he complained very little. Lorithiel kept her hand squeezed over her injury, hoping that the pressure would staunch the bleeding.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, Astranaar, came into sight around the bend. The pace was picked up dramatically; they were just shy of jogging toward the island-town. As soon as they reached it, they searched for a healer.

A priestess was located, and she was able to heal Lorithiel's wound. Evidently, there had been a trace of poison, but she had been able to cleanse everything in time.

Against the advice of her friends, Lorithiel began looking for information about the Garden. She ran into dead ends everywhere she went, until one man was able to give her a tip in the right direction.

"The Garden?" he repeated, thinking for a moment before shaking his head. "Sorry, never heard of it." He blinked after a moment. "But you know what," he continued, pointing an index finger for emphasis. "I bet Elder Baraelus would know."

"I'm sorry.. Elder who?" Lorithiel inquired, quirking an eyebrow.

The man pointed to the southwest. "Baraelus Wildwhisper," he confirmed. "He knows Ashenvale's history as far back as it goes, and then even farther than that. If this 'Garden' really does exist, Elder Baraelus will know. Here, lend me your map." Lorithiel complied, and the man marked a spot that was near the Grove of Aessina on her map.

Lorithiel thanked the man, excited by the prospect of finding a clue. She and her companions slept in the inn—the first real beds they had seen in days—then set out immediately in the morning. They stopped along the way a few times here and there when Koran wanted to dig his mining pick into one rock or another, but overall, they made fairly decent time.

Lorithiel pulled out her map and looked at it, then looked up at the house that stood before her. It was quaint—a typical one-roomed night elven building, with tiny ponds beneath the window sills and flowers blooming all around.

The group approached and knocked on the door, but there was no reply. They knocked again, but still, they saw no sign of life.

"That's odd," Lorithiel murmured, looking down at her map again. "This should be the place.. I wonder if.." She pricked her ears suddenly and fell silent. Narrowing her eyes, she listened intently, then gasped. She could hear a faint voice calling for help. "Quickly, follow me!" she exclaimed, then rushed in the direction of the sound.

A few seconds later, she almost tripped on a heap on the ground. Then, to her surprise, the heap began moving—and the feeble, white-haired head of an old night elf man poked out. "Help me," he rasped pleadingly.

"What happened?" Darren asked, trying to find the wound that was hurting him. "Where do you need medical attention? Are you Elder Baraelus?"

The man nodded his head a small bit, then coughed weakly. "Poison," he managed to mutter. "Spider venom."

Lorithiel bit her lip and glanced around frantically, unsure of what to do. When she looked back down at the man, he began to spasm; his eyes rolled up into the back of his head. He was slipping out of this world, and with him was slipping Lorithiel's chance to find out where the Garden was.

Suddenly, a thought occurred to her. She shot a hand into her satchel and searched around desperately, then almost screamed in joy when she found what she was looking for.

In her hand was a small leaf, covered in a glass-like substance in order to preserve it.

"Elune bless," Lorithiel murmured thankfully, then broke the solidified gel off of the leaf. She ripped the leaf into little pieces, then balled them together and shoved them down the man's throat.

Just when the group began to worry that they had been unsuccessful, the man swallowed and coughed again, taking a deep breath. He gasped and reached upward, grabbing onto Darren's arm to steady himself. He turned his silvery gaze upward, the faintest of smiles spreading across his exhausted face.

"I owe you my life, strangers," he said, slowly and shakily standing up. "As I believe you already know, I am Elder Baraelus Wildwhisper—but you may simply call my Baraelus. Please, if there is anything I can do to repay you, tell me."

Lorithiel exchanged glances with her comrades, then cleared her throat. "Actually, er.. there is something that we need from you," she began slowly, giving the back of her neck an awkward scratch. "If it's not too much trouble; you must feel rather fragile after that ordeal."

"Nonsense!" Baraelus replied, waving his hand dismissively, then gesturing in the direction of his house. "Come, come. Let us sit inside, where it is safer." The group followed as he led the way to his home.

"What is it I can help you with?" he asked once Dimpy was tied up outside and the trio was sitting comfortably.

Lorithiel took a deep breath. "We were wondering what you knew about.." She squeezed her eyes shut; this could be the key to everything. ".. the Garden."

"The Garden?" Baraelus repeated, confusion clouding his gaze. Lorithiel's heart dropped down to the pit of her stomach for a moment, but he soon lifted a finger in surprise. "Oh, of course! The Garden! Yes, the locals call it that. Or they did, anyway. It's a shame what happened there." He shook his head sadly.

Lorithiel almost cried out in happiness. "You know of it, then? What is its common name?" She wrung her hands nervously, anticipating the answer eagerly.

"Sparrowsong Village," Baraelus replied calmly, then offered a candid smile. "What else can I do for you? Surely, there is something?"

The trio shook their heads. "Nothing else," Lorithiel replied, excitement obvious in her step as she bounced up out of her seat. "Thank you dearly! You've been a fantastic help!" She bowed gratefully, then exited the house, leaving behind a rather puzzled old man, who pondered for a moment before shrugging and moving on.

The group grabbed Dimpy and hurried back to Astranaar as quickly as they could. Once there, they began searching rapidly for the history records of Sparrowsong Village. They located the records, and Lorithiel began poring over them hastily. Eventually, she honed in on a single family's listings. Something caught her eye.

_Unnamed infant – presumed dead_

No other family had these particular words included in their records. All other infants in the village at the time—a small number, considering it was a small village—were either rescued or identified as having died in the attack on Sparrowsong (an attack which, Lorithiel had read earlier in the records, were led by creatures of demonic nature). These words confirmed that there was only one family to which she could belong.

She read down the list of her family members, grimacing. _Grandparents, dead. Parents, dead, _she thought to herself as she perused the contents._ Cousins, dead. Aunts and uncles, dead. Sister, de—_

_Wait, no._

_Not sister, dead._

… _Sister, alive._

Darren peeked around her shoulder, glancing at the Darnassian language and wrinkling his nose, unable to understand a word. "So, what does it say?"

Lorithiel blinked and peered at the information closely, then rolled up the scrolls and handed them back to the woman in charge of the historical records. Darren gave her a puzzled look, and she took a deep breath, lifting her gaze to meet his.

"It says that my sister is alive and well."

"That's wonderful! Who is she?"

"Thellandria Cinderpelt, Druid of the Antler."


	14. Chapter 14 - Rising Temperatures

"I don't understand why we had to go through all of this trouble."

"Be quiet, Lirandil! If we are going to retake Hyjal, we need her!"

"Surely we could have gotten what we needed without having to risk so much, Rishe."

Inside a cave hidden away deep within Mount Hyjal, Rishe paced back and forth while Lirandil leaned against a wall, folding his arms across his chest. They both seemed irritated; neither seemed to agree with what the other was saying. Rishe turned an exasperated expression to Lirandil.

"Don't you see? She was Fleetsong's _mate_ and _thero'shan_! He must've told her _everything_! He must've _taught_ her everything!" she exclaimed, running her fingers through her scarlet tresses. "If anyone was to have the information we need to infiltrate Hyjal, it was Fleetsong. But who botched _that_ mission?"

Lirandil blushed slightly and grumbled to himself. "Look, it wasn't my fault that the idiot Paladin got to him first," he protested.

"Yes, it was!" argued Rishe, frowning deeply. "You had plenty of opportunities, but instead, you squandered them because you wanted to 'celebrate Midsummer' at the local festivities last year. 'I'll get to Fleetsong right after,' you said. 'The weather is so nice and hot! I'll track him down on a rainy day because I'm a lazy moron with a big fat arse,' you said." She stalked over to her brother and slammed a fist onto the wall near his head. "And then what happened? Ah, yes! I remember! HE DIED."

Lirandil winced slightly. He lifted his hand and brought his thumb and forefinger a centimeter apart from each other, indicating a small amount. "Now, sis, I think you might be exaggerating a little on the arse part. I actually rather pride myself on the state of my buttocks—"

"LIRANDIL, WILL YOU PLEASE SHUT UP?"

"Fine, fine."

"Brother and sister Clawflame?"

Both siblings whirled around to face the cave entrance. Before them stood a band of flame druids much like Rishe and Lirandil; there was a sizable handful—two dozen, perhaps a bit less. Rishe recognized them immediately, but Lirandil remained in the dark. Evidently, whatever Rishe had arranged, she had not bothered to tell Lirandil anything about it.

"Sister and brother Clawflame," Rishe corrected, sending an imperious glare in Lirandil's direction before offering the newcomers a polite salute. "Thank you all for coming here, brothers and sisters. As you know, we have taken the Elder Talon's mate. Fortunately, this brings us closer to our goal. Unfortunately, she was, generally speaking, well-liked." She heaved a sigh. "This means that if we aren't careful, people could begin to notice her absence. We can't allow this." Her gaze traveled out over the gathering.

"I suppose you're all wondering why I've summoned you here this eve," she said eventually. "It is to deal with the aforementioned dilemma." She stepped forward, giving her allies a once-over with her piercing stare. "You are all respected trackers of Ragnaros. You have served our Fire Lord faithfully in the past, and you will continue to serve him now." She paused to let her words sink in.

"I need each of you to go to a different settlement on this continent—either night elven or Cenarion. If Fleetsong's mate has a connection with a place, it must be watched by one of you. You will spread out across Kalimdor, making sure that Thellandria Cinderpelt's disappearance is not observed. If it is," she instructed, her eyes darkening, "find the person who has become alerted to it."

A voice spoke up from the back of the group. "And then what do we do?" it asked.

Rishe raised an eyebrow. "Isn't it obvious?" she inquired, then shrugged and turned around, dismissing the trackers. She began to walk deeper into the cave, letting darkness devour her; Lirandil scrambled after her. A few moments later, her voice rang out once more:

"Kill them."

The trackers glanced at each other, then dipped their heads and lifted their hands up to the air. Fire began to weave its way in and out of their fingers; after a few moments, the flames swallowed them in orange. When the fire faded, none of the trackers remained.

That night, across Kalimdor, various night elven and Cenarion settlements felt the air grow humid and uncomfortable. Temperatures rose, and with them, so did restlessness. Few people were able to get a good night's sleep. Their skin was sticky with sweat, and their dreams were filled with fire.


	15. Chapter 15 - The Right Direction

It took Lorithiel hours to fall asleep the night before, and when she woke up, she still felt sluggish. She managed to work off some of her fatigue, but she remained weary for quite some time. As she looked around, she noticed that most of the other inhabitants of Astranaar were exhausted as well.

_It was rather warm last night_, Lorithiel thought to herself. _We probably just couldn't get to sleep because of the humidity._

She found Darren and Koran sitting on a bench outside the inn, struggling to keep their eyes open. When she came into their line of sight, they appeared not to see her. Eventually, Koran opened his eyes a bit further and processed her presence. He elbowed Darren sharply in the side, causing him to jump up and glance around wildly for a few seconds until he recognized Lorithiel.

"You two didn't sleep well either, I take it?" she greeted, lifting a hand to her mouth, unsuccessfully trying to stifle a yawn. The others mumbled agreement to her question, and she chuckled a bit. "Right, well.. shall we get going? The sooner we start searching this town for clues about Thellandria, the sooner we can shake off this tiredness and wake ourselves up a bit."

The trio began searching for hints around Astranaar. A few people had met or heard of the druid, but they had not seen her in many moons, and they were unable to provide any help. Still, Lorithiel and her sleepy comrades pressed on, struggling to find someone who had even the tiniest bit of information.

"Sister Kimlya," Lorithiel said, smiling up at the innkeeper. "We were wondering if you have any idea where we might be able to locate a woman named Thellandria Cinderpelt. She's a Druid of the Antler, but I'm not sure where to find her. Do you happen to know anything that might be of use?"

Kimlya tapped her chip pensively for a moment, then frowned and shook her head, causing her short emerald hair to jostle. "No, I'm afraid not," she replied, fluffing the pillow of a nearby bed that she was cleaning up. "I'm sorry that I cannot be of more help—"

"Thellandria Cinderpelt, you say?"

The trio blinked and spun on their heels to face the source of the voice. Lorithiel briefly thanked Innkeeper Kimlya, then quickly turned her attention back to the person in front of her: a night elven man with azure hair and a well-trimmed beard.

"Er.. yes," Lorithiel said, nodding once. "I am looking for her. She is my sister, and I'm trying to find her. Do you know where she might be?"

The man dipped his head in assent. "Yes, I heard word of her whereabouts going back.. mmm, a couple of weeks ago. Last I heard, she was in Silithus. She had been there for some time, so I can only assume that she is still there now, though nothing is certain."

Lorithiel looked at Darren and Koran, shock and excitement sparkling in her vision. "Thank you so much, brother!" she exclaimed, then bit her lip, trying to contain her exhilaration.

"Please, call me Tharos," he said, then took a step forward. "I would be willing to escort you there, if you are able to rent hippogryphs for yourselves temporarily from Daelyshia. The ride from here to Silithus on a speedy mount's back would be over in no time; the cost would be minute."

Lorithiel quirked a brow a scratched the back of her head. "Er.. well.. I suppose if you're offering, I wouldn't object, but I don't want to put you out of her way," she said slowly, slightly puzzled.

Tharos waved his hand dismissively. "It's not a problem; I was headed down that way anyhow to visit Uldum. I might as well help a fellow traveler out." He beamed a bright smile.

Lorithiel softened and returned the smile, then inclined her head respectfully. "It would be an honor, brother. I am Lorithiel, and these are my companions. This is Darren," she introduced, pointing at Darren, "and this is Koran." She gestured toward the dwarf.

Tharos gave a bow, then motioned in the direction of the hippogryph master on the other side of town. "You three get packed; I'll talk to Daelyshia, then we can depart tomorrow. I'll be with the hippogryphs an hour after sunrise. Meet me then."

The trio slept a bit more pleasantly that night, then gathered their belongings and made their way out to Dimpy, where they attached all of their supplies. Dimpy let out a frustrated nicker as he was once again bombarded by so many provisions.

"I.. I've put you two through a lot," Lorithiel said to Koran and Darren. "I know that this path is veering way off course. I had not envisioned going all the way to Silithus, and there is no telling that it will even end there. If you wish to leave now, I will understand. This is much more than you signed up for when we first started off."

Darren exchanged a glance with Koran, then patted Lorithiel on the back. "Don't be silly," he responded. "We're not going to leave you now." He let out a laugh. "You're right; you _have_ put us through a lot—but that's what has made us stronger and more tightly bound. I'm proud to call you my friend—" He looked down at Koran, then smiled broadly and placed a hand on the dwarf's shoulder. "I'm proud to call _both_ of you my friends. We're in this together."

Koran nodded and grinned up at Lorithiel a bit, who grinned back sheepishly, her eyes slightly moist. "He's right, lass. We've been through th'ringer an' back, but we're closer to each other than I ever thought we'd be, an' that's not something I intend on throwing out th'window." He grimaced a bit as the three began walking toward the hippogryph master. "I don't like that Tharos, though," he muttered, folding his arms across his chest sourly.

Lorithiel narrowed her eyes and frowned at Koran. "Don't be abrasive, Koran. He's a nice man looking to lend a helping hand, since he needs to travel in the same general direction as us anyway for one reason or another. Goodness, that sounds familiar, doesn't it?" she asked sarcastically. "Oh, right! That's the reason _everyone else in this group_ joined my journey in the first place, including you!"

Koran growled beneath his breath. "I jus' don't like that pretty boy look about 'im," he said. "Too clean-handed."

Lorithiel rolled her eyes. "Elune forbid he actually values his personal hygiene, unlike _some_ people who I won't mention." She sent him a pointed glare, which he caught and glowered at, but moments later, they both cracked amused smirks.

The trio reached the hippogryph master shortly thereafter. They met up with Tharos, who had already arranged for three hippogryphs (he had already ridden to Astranaar on his own personal hippogryph, so there was no need to order one for him). Lorithiel was sure to ask for one more—a particularly strong one that would be able to hoist Dimpy up within its talons. She simply couldn't leave him behind; he had been through so much with her since they first set foot in Elwynn together.

After paying what they needed to, they set off southward, soaring through the air at great speeds. Lorithiel watched as the canopy of Ashenvale's forests zoomed by as she raced past them. She could see the mountains of Stonetalon in the distance, getting closer and closer.

They had just passed the border into the Stonetalon Mountains when Tharos let out a shout and darted toward the ground, disappearing in the blink of an eye. The trio halted and gasped, then lowered themselves to the ground as well, searching for their guide. They found him a little way off, hunched over his hippogryph. Quickly as they could, they ran to him.

"Are you hurt, Tharos?" Darren asked, helping him up.

Tharos groaned, but shook his head. "Something struck down my mount... I think it might be injured badly.." He gestured weakly toward the animal; the trio moved forward to inspect it, while Tharos moved back to lean against a nearby boulder.

After a few moments, Darren rubbed his chin skeptically. "Hrmm.. you know, I don't see anything wrong with it," he commented.

"No, you wouldn't."

Darren frowned a bit, looking taken aback. "What's that supposed to me—LOOK OUT!" He leaped toward Koran and Lorithiel, barreling them out of the way as a searing hot blast of fire came roaring by, barely missing them.

Tharos stood before the huddled trio, playing with flames in his hands and smirking arrogantly. "Young adventurers. So naïve." His hair was a burnt black, and his skin was a deep reddish-orange.

"A Druid of the Flame? Here?" Koran rasped incredulously. "I thought they were defeated!"

Tharos laughed and sent another flaming attack at the group, forcing them to split apart from one another as they tried to avoid getting scorched. "Not all of us," he replied, then straightened his back and stood even taller. "The one you seek belongs to us now. I would tell you not to meddle in our affairs, but that would be pointless; I'm going to kill you anyway."

As one, the trio jumped into the fray and began battling Tharos and his hippogryph, who had also joined the fight, but every attack they sent toward the flame druid was parried by his superior fire-wielding abilities. Eventually, however, they began to wear him down, and a few scrapes and bruises started to appear on his flesh. Before long, he was backed up against a mountainside; moments later, Koran decapitated the man's hippogryph.

With one mighty, enraged swing, Tharos threw a fistful of fire at Darren, catching him directly in the chest, knocking him backward. Lorithiel and Koran stopped what they were doing for a millisecond, and Tharos used this time to raise his hands above his head and cast a spell, thus erupting into a column of flames and disappearing.

Cursing, Lorithiel and Koran raced over to Darren's side and propped him up against a rock. He was groaning and coughing, but no coherent words came out for some time. It was clear that he was grievously wounded.

"Come on, Darren, pal," Koran hissed, "don't give up on me like this." He was extremely distraught, but for his part, he did his best to hide it.

Darren finally opened his eyes and smirked a bit, then tried to speak; all that came out was a racking cough. He swallowed hard, then attempted again. "... Never thought.. I'd.." He stopped and gulped, then continued. ".. die for you. Always thought.. you'd be the one.. to kill me," he finished.

Koran shook his head. "Ye're talkin' nonsense, Darren, ye're—ye're—you.." But as Koran was speaking, Darren's chest began to heave and spasm. He gave a few more feeble coughs and sent one more grin Koran's way; then, his last breath left him, and the life drained out of his eyes forever.

With grief in their steps and heaviness in their hearts, Lorithiel and Koran buried Darren nearby, next to a small creek. They sent Darren's mount back to Astranaar; it was trained, along with the other rented hippogryphs, to return to its home town once it was no longer needed.

Finally, the former trio—now only a duo—found their way back to their own hippogryphs. Koran heaved a sad sigh, then turned to Lorithiel.

"Where to, then?" he asked quietly, looking up at her for an answer.

Lorithiel closed her eyes briefly. "Druids of the Flame took her, yes?" she said, then opened her eyes again. "There's really only one place that can mean." She climbed atop her hippogryph, as did Koran, then she glanced one last time over her shoulder, down by the recently disturbed patch of earth near the creek, where her comrade now rested.

"We're on our way, Thellandria. We're coming to Mount Hyjal."


	16. Chapter 16 - Fixing a Broken Toy

Rishe perused an ancient scroll, sitting at a table in her cave. An explosion of fire sounded behind Rishe, causing her to turn around. As the flames faded, she saw a new guest and offered a brief smile.

"Ah, Tharos," she greeted. "It is good to see you. Do you have a status report on the condition of your settlement?" She tilted her head, eyes boring into the man. She watched as he wrung his hands and dropped his gaze.

"Er.. well.. yes, sort of," he replied slowly, causing Rishe's eyes to narrow. "You see, I found a woman and her two friends—a dwarf and a human—who said that they were looking for Thellandria. The woman's name was Lorithiel, I believe; she claimed to be Thellandria's sister." He paused and took a deep breath.

Rishe frowned and scratched the back of her head. "We sent our best scouts and spies to locate her information. They said nothing about a sister—only that during an attack on her home, her sibling was killed."

"Presumed killed, actually," Tharos added nervously. "As it turns out, she's been alive this entire time." He paused, then continued. "I.. I confronted them and offered to escort them south, as I said I knew where Thellandria was. That way, I could get them out of the town and kill them more quietly."

Rishe folded her arms across her chest. "What do you want, a trophy? I'm not here to shower you in praise for your deeds," she snapped sourly. "Tell me where you are going with this."

Tharos bit his lip. "Well.. er.. when I attacked them, I suppose I had.. underestimated their ferocity, and.." He swallowed hard. "I killed one, and then.. then I barely escaped with my life." He slowly lifted his gaze up to meet Rishe's.

Rishe stared at him for a long time, then slowly rose from her seat and walked over to him. Swift as a hare, she sent a sharp smack across his cheek, causing him to stumble back. He cupped his cheek in pain, then sent a frightened glance up at Rishe, who was looking down her nose at him.

"You _fool_," she spat. "You _incompetent, idiotic, bumbling buffoon_! You're just like my brother! The both of you, complete simpletons!" She growled and clenched her fists angrily. "You _do_ realize that Hyjal is the _first_ place they will look? You have basically _told_ the enemy exactly where to find us!"

Tharos flinched and cowered back a bit. "I didn't mean to; honestly, I tried to stop them—"

"I DON'T CARE IF YOU TRIED," Rishe bellowed, eyes ablaze. "You FAILED. And I do NOT accept failure." She snarled menacingly, then pointed angrily toward the exit of the cave. "We are going to need our Champion of the Flame. Lirandil and I will perform the final ritual, and we cannot afford to be interrupted. In the mean time..." She jabbed her finger once again toward the exit. "You are going to get back out there," she said slowly, gritting her teeth, "and you are going to wait for them to come. When they do, you are going to kill them." She reached her other hand up and yanked on the man's hair, causing him to yelp. "Do you hear me? You're not going to _try_ to kill them. You are _going _to kill them. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"

Tharos gulped and nodded quickly. "Crystal," he squeaked. Rishe released him, and he scrambled out of the cave, disappearing into another eruption of flames.

Meanwhile, nearby, Lorithiel and Koran were crossing the border into Mount Hyjal, followed by Dimpy, who was, at this point, getting a bit used to the idea of getting tossed around like a sack of potatoes. They flew over the mountain tops and entered into Hyjal, then lowered themselves closer to the ground so that they could get a better look at their surroundings.

Suddenly, a bolt of fire came hurtling past them, scarcely missing their heads. They pulled back immediately, then glanced down to look for the source of the spell. Below them, on the ground, they saw a flame druid conjuring another attack.

"Tharos," Koran muttered as they drew closer. He landed on the ground and hopped off of his hippogryph, as did Lorithiel. With a snarl, he ran forward at full speed. "Ye'll pay fer what ye did, ye bastard!"

Growling, he slashed at the man with his axe, but Tharos was too quick. The flame druid leaped out of the way and swung a fiery fist at the dwarf, missing him by an inch. The two dueled ferociously for a few seconds more.

Then, Lorithiel joined the fight; she unsheathed her dagger and charged, jabbing at Tharos, trying to tear him apart with her blade. She managed to scar him with a few slices, and as time went on, she and Koran gained the upper hand.

Realizing this, Tharos thought fast. He vanished into a column of fire, then reappeared a few hundred feet away, puzzling the duo. He lifted his hands above his head and began channeling a whirlwind of flames around himself for protection; as he continued casting, an enormous orb of fire started to form above him, growing larger and more powerful by the second.

Lorithiel blanched, then glanced down at Koran. "What.. what do we do?" she yelled over the cacophony of the swirling flames. "The fire is shielding him! We can't interrupt his spell!"

Koran turned his gaze up toward Lorithiel and gave her a sad look—not frightened, not angry. Just sad. "Yes, we can," he said simply.

Lorithiel furrowed her brows and frowned. ".. How? What do we do?" she asked, peering at him inquisitively before returning her attention to the ever-growing orb in front of them.

"_We_ do nothing," Koran replied, confusing Lorithiel even further. "_I _do something."

Lorithiel pondered his words for a moment, then widened her eyes and shook her head as realization dawned on her. "No, Koran, you can't—"

Koran wasn't listening. He tightened his grip around his axe, then crouched down and readied himself. "This is fer Darren, ye blazing lunatic," he muttered, then let out a war cry and charged, disappearing into the flaming vortex.

Lorithiel waited with bated breath, tears stinging her eyes. Moments later, the fire died down, and the smoke cleared. She inhaled sharply at what she saw.

Tharos was dead, lying face-down in the dirt. His dark hair was tussled in the wind; cinders were blown out of his hair, drifting away in the breeze. Deep in his neck, Koran's axe was buried.

Nearby was a sight that caused Lorithiel's breath to catch in her throat. Koran's body was burnt to a crisp beneath his armor; as the wind continued to brush past the scene, his corpse began to crumble, and the ashes were carried away slowly.

The tears that she had been forcing back now flowed down her cheeks freely, and she hung her head in silence for some time, praying to her goddess that he might find peace. She covered her face in her hands and wept—not just for Koran, but for Darren, and for her adoptive parents, and for her biological parents, and for the life that she left behind as soon as she departed from the Darkmoon Island on that rainy eve; it seemed like an eternity ago.

Soon, she lifted her face from her palms and gazed out around her. _Now is not the time to mourn,_ she thought to herself. _Now is the time to act._ She sent Koran's hippogryph back to Astranaar, then climbed back atop her own mount. Inhaling a deep breath, she took to the skies once more.

Before long, an orange glimmer caught her eye. She blinked and peered down below her, then gasped at what she saw.

On a stretch of land near a small cliff edge, two flame druids—one female with scarlet hair, the other male with charcoal black hair—were channeling fiery magic into another female flame druid in the center, whose curly hair was a dark, soot-stained olive color; she was kneeling down, turned away from Lorithiel, so she could not see the woman's face As time passed by, the recipient of the powers grew stronger and stronger. Power emanated from her very form, filling the air around her with a faint orange glow.

Lorithiel snarled angrily, baring her teeth. _They must know where she is_, she thought to herself, then steered her hippogryph toward the ground a small way off. She quickly dismounted, then instructed Dimpy to stay where he was as she stepped forward, heading directly toward the three flame druids.

"Betrayers of nature," she spat at them, drawing their attention to her. The scarlet-haired one and the man turned their gazes to fixate on her, but the one in the center remained kneeling, as if still recovering from the large amount of power that had been bestowed upon her.

"You are holding my sister captive," Lorithiel declared, forcing her voice to remain steady, though the task was extremely difficult. "I am here to free her."

This earned her a bout of laughter from the man and his scarlet-haired companion. "Oh? You'll have a bit of trouble where that's concerned. You see, we fixed her. She was broken, and we fixed her," the man said, grinning.

Lorithiel narrowed her eyes, but nonetheless pressed on. "I have no time for riddles. I want my sister. Where is she?" She glared around. "Where is Thellandria Cinderpelt?"

Finally, the olive-haired woman stood up and turned around, revealing burnt vermilion skin and leaf-shaped tattoos over her blank, expressionless eyes and cheeks. An orange pendant glimmered on her neck. She spoke for the first time; her voice was monotonous and flat.

"I am Thellandria Cinderpelt."


	17. Chapter 17-Good Intentions, Poor Results

Lorithiel staggered backward in shock, staring blankly at the woman who had once been her sister, but was now a mindless, corrupt minion of Ragnaros. She could not believe her eyes; just when she had thought she might accomplish her goal, she was faced with this?

"I am Rishe," the scarlet-haired woman said, "and this is Lirandil. Good. Now that introductions have taken place, how about we kill you and get back to our business?"

Lorithiel grimaced and placed her hands on her hips. "I think not! I told you; I'm here to save my sister, and that is exactly what I will do, no matter what it takes." She growled viciously. "Your heads will roll before the night is through."

Rishe laughed loudly. "Goodness, we're terrified. Can't you see Lirandil shivering in his boots at the prospect of facing you, she-who-lets-her-friends-die?" She snorted derisively. "You are useless. Your companions relied on you to help them and protect them, and what did you do? You watched them sacrifice their lives, all for you. And now, you have no one left to defend you."

Lorithiel lowered her gaze, shame and guilt filling her. She began to doubt herself; perhaps Rishe was right. Perhaps there really was no chance at all. Perhaps there was never any chance to begin with; what if everything she did meant nothing?

"That's not quite true," a heavily accented voice came from behind Lorithiel. She spun around, and her hands flew to cover her mouth at what she saw.

Nahiri stood next to her, fire burning in her fists and passion burning in her eyes. She glanced down at Lorithiel briefly. "I don't know what you've gotten yourself into, sister," she said, offering a quick smile, "but I saw you here with them and figured it could only mean trouble. I've been practicing day and night; I will not fail you."

Lorithiel felt relief and gratitude wash over her like a wave so strong that she almost fell to her knees. She took a deep, steadying breath, then smiled at her draenei comrade. "I will never forget your kindness," she replied, then turned to face Rishe and Lirandil, who were starting to look a bit less confident.

"No matter," Rishe hissed, waving her hand dismissively. "It's still three against two. Try your luck, fools. Ragnaros will reign supreme." She lifted her fingers and sent a ball of searing fire toward Lorithiel, who barely managed to dodge in time.

Nahiri charged and Lirandil and Thellandria, taking them both on at the same time. Her newly found affinity with fire allowed her to literally bend her enemies' spells, turning them off course, while her old affinity with the other elements allowed her to fight with abilities that the flame druids were not resistant to.

Lorithiel, meanwhile, was forced to jump around like a hare, dodging this way and that as she ran toward Rishe. Rishe was far more powerful, and she knew it; each one of Lorithiel's dagger attacks failed, and while the Druid of the Flame did not manage to gravely injure Lorithiel, she did send a few scratches and burn marks across her clothing and armor, leaving much of the elf's garbs tattered and worn.

A scream echoed across the battlefield; Nahiri had struck down Lirandil, who now was splayed across the ground, his eyes lifeless and glazed over. The draenei turned immediately to Thellandria and began fighting her.

Rishe shrieked in fury as her brother fell. She knocked Lorithiel backward onto her rear and began casting a powerful spell; the glow around her hands grew brighter and larger by the second. Lorithiel jumped to her feet, but was frozen with fear. Rishe lifted her hands, then thrust them forward, sending an enormous tongue of fire licking toward Lorithiel.

A whinny sounded nearby; Dimpy appeared—the group's supplies still clanking noisily as they dangled from his sides—and shielded Lorithiel, taking the full might of the spell onto himself. Lorithiel raised her hands to protect her eyes from the eruption of flames that followed, and when she looked up again, she saw nothing but a pile of ash surrounded by a few pots and pans.

Grief once again stabbed Lorithiel like a knife, stunning her; Rishe was also shocked, as she had not anticipated that her most powerful spell would be wasted on a pony. She furrowed her brows and stared blankly at the pile of ash, not comprehending exactly what had happened.

Lorithiel, on the other hand, was growing more and more used to sorrow and loss; rage overcame grief rather quickly and, with a prayer to her goddess, she charged. She lifted her dagger high over her opposite shoulder, then slashed downward, slitting Rishe's throat. Blood sprayed onto Lorithiel's face as the flame druid's body collapsed to the ground and ceased to move. Inhaling deeply, Lorithiel turned her gaze toward Nahiri; as she did so, a screech involuntarily escaped her lips at the sight before her.

With a final rock-fisted punch, Nahiri sent Thellandria hurtling over the edge of the nearby cliff, disappearing from sight as she plummeted below.


	18. Chapter 18 - Antler

Blood pounded in Lorithiel's ears; she was breathing dangerously fast, but she did not notice. Time slowed, and she could not hear anything around her side from her own scream echoing inside her head. Her feet were frozen to the ground, and her eyes were stretched wide.

Still disoriented, she scrambled to her hippogryph and flew down to the bottom of the cliff. Before the mount had even landed properly, she leaped off and ran to her sister's side.

Thellandria was lying on the ground, eyes closed; her bones were broken, as was clear from the awkward manner in which she was positioned. As Lorithiel watched, her soot-stained olive hair, flaming orange armor, and burnt vermilion skin slowly faded into teal, brown and green, and pale blue respectively.

Lorithiel knelt down and took Thellandria's head in her lap, feeling for a heartbeat. _She's alive,_ she thought to herself, an inkling of hope flourishing in her chest. Just then, the druid opened her eyes, which revealed themselves to be of a silvery hue.

"Mother?" Thellandria whispered hoarsely, blood trickling from a corner of her mouth. "Is that you? Am I dead?"

"No, Thellandria, it's me. Your sister," she replied with a small smile, tears glinting in her eyes. "I've been alive this entire time. I was adopted by travelers in the area. My name is Lorithiel Shaderunner." She brushed away the blood near her sister's mouth. "I'm going to save you..."

Thellandria blinked a couple of times, trying to focus her blurry vision on Lorithiel. "You.." Her words died in her throat, and she seemed shocked for a moment. Eventually, a gentle, if pained, smile spread across her features. "Lorithiel.. what a lovely name.." she murmured softly.

Nahiri landed nearby, having used Dimpy's hippogryph to make her way down. She furrowed her brows and rushed over to the two sisters, confusion filling her gaze. "What.. why..?"

Lorithiel glanced up with glossy eyes at the draenei. "She is my sister," she explained. "Thellandria Cinderpelt." She watched as Nahiri's eyes widened in understanding, and then in horror and guilt.

"I had no idea.. I'm so sorry.. I.."

Lorithiel shook her head slightly. "Don't be; it was not done out of malice. I place no blame on you," she murmured, running her fingers through her sister's teal hair.

"Lorithiel.." Thellandria began, drawing Lorithiel's attention immediately. "What color are my eyes?" When Lorithiel furrowed her brows in confusion, she repeated more urgently, "What color are my eyes?"

"Er.. they are silver, of course," Lorithiel replied, causing Thellandria to let out a wail. Lorithiel blinked and looked around for a wound. "What is wrong? Where does it hurt?"

The druid shook her head slowly. "Nature has left me," she whimpered. "I abandoned it, and it has not forgiven me." She squeezed her eyes shut and bit her lip, trying to hold back tears. "My eyes were amber once."

Realization crashed over Lorithiel as she made connections mentally. _Of course_, she thought. _Many druids' eyes turn amber when they practice the art._

Thellandria stirred in Lorithiel's lap. "Take me to Nordrassil, the World Tree," she begged. "Take me to the shore of the lake below it." She opened her eyes and looked up at Lorithiel pleadingly.

Excitement fluttered within Lorithiel. _She knows how to heal herself_, she thought. _We'll be able to save her. She must know how to use Nordrassil's powers._ Carefully, she lifted Thellandria up and climbed onto her hippogryph, followed by Nahiri, who once again used Dimpy's.

The group took off, soaring through the air and heading north. The burnt, ashy region below them soon transitioned into gorgeous mountains and lush, beautiful forests. Various shrines passed beneath them as they made their way toward the looming World Tree, which rose to impossible heights and threw an enormous shadow over the landscape.

They landed, and Lorithiel gently took her sister and laid her down upon the grassy banks of the enchanted waters below Nordrassil, while Nahiri stood off in the back, giving the elves some peace. "You'll be alright.. don't worry.. hush now.." The sun was beginning to set beyond the mountains, casting a dusky glow over the group.

Thellandria chuckled briefly, then coughed slightly, blood oozing out of the corner of her mouth again. "I was about two hundred years old, at a friend's house, when they attacked our village," she murmured. "You were just an infant. Satyrs were burning down the Garden, and our parents decided to hide you in the bushes outside of the village, so that they could help evacuate the others and come back for you later." She coughed again, grimacing as pain spread across her body.

"They were killed shortly after. I went to look for you, but I did not know what my parents had done with you, since I had been with my friend for the majority of the attack," she continued, guilt crossing her features. "I never found you. I searched and searched, but I eventually admitted that you had probably been killed and burned to ash by fel fire." She winced in pain again. "I suppose your adoptive parents found you in the bushes."

Lorithiel nodded quietly, then began taking Thellandria's armor off, piece by piece, including the orange necklace. Each movement caused the injured woman to groan in agony. After a few minutes of silence, the druid was in her undershirt and a pair of linen pants; Lorithiel proceeded to look for wounds. "Here, these are the spots where you need to heal yourself," she said, pointing to a plethora of gashes and bruises.

"I have failed," Thellandria murmured, ignoring her sister's words. "I've failed as a druid." She closed her eyes and wept silently. "I gave in to their torture; I submitted and joined them. I cracked under the pressure." She looked up at Lorithiel, letting the tears flow freely over her leaf-shaped tattoos. "I betrayed nature, and now, my last moments will be spent as an oath-breaker." She let out a hacking cough; blood poured out of the corner of her mouth more swiftly.

Lorithiel shook her head rapidly. "It wasn't your fault. And don't talk like that," she whispered, her voice faltering. "Don't talk as if you're going to die, because you're not. You're going to heal yourself. You're a druid."

Thellandria sighed hoarsely. "I _was _a druid," she corrected quietly. "What I have done is unforgivable." She closed her eyes and remained unresponsive for some time, uttering prayers beneath her breath.

A few moments later, roots began to creep up from under the ground. They wrapped around Thellandria, enveloping her limbs and beginning to slowly pull her below the ground.

Lorithiel gasped and began tearing away at the roots, hindering their process. "No," she hissed, "you can't take her. I won't let you." She ripped at the roots even more frantically. "I won't let you!" she repeated loudly.

Thellandria smiled suddenly and opened her eyes; they shone a bright amber—brighter than ever before. The orange pendant hanging from her neck flared up one last time before flickering out and turning black, its heinous powers lost forever. "Nature has forgiven me," she whispered as a gentle breeze caressed her cheeks and ruffled her hair. "Lorithiel." She turned her gaze toward the pile of her armor off to the side. "Go into the left pocket of my pants." The roots continued to slowly drag her down. "Pull out the talisman that you will find in there."

Lorithiel hurried over to the pile of armor, quickly searching through the aforementioned pocket and wrapping her fingers around the talisman that she found there. Her blood turned to ice, and a chill ran up her spine; she stood still for some time, not moving.

This was the same figurine that she had felt in her hand many nights ago during her dream.

Slowly, with a shaking hand, she pulled it out of the pocket and opened up her palm, staring at it. It was a small white stormcrow with yellow topaz gemstones for eyes. Swallowing hard, she faced her sister and returned to the druid's side.

Thellandria was almost completely sunken into the ground by now. "Please," she murmured, "take that figurine and give it to Leilla Fernfeather. Tell her that I want you to be the mother of my child."

Lorithiel blinked in surprise and gulped. "Your child..?" she repeated nervously. "You have.. a child?"

The druid nodded in response. "Galondel and I had a baby girl. I asked Leilla to look after her while I left to avenge Galondel's death, but.." She coughed painfully. ".. I.. can no longer return to her."

Lorithiel's eyes overflowed with tears, and she dipped her head in assent. "I will raise her to be proud of her mother," she replied softly. "She will know what a brave person you were."

Thellandria looked relieved. "Please, name her Elena. Galondel and I were so fond of the name.. so fond..." Her body shook with a terrible cough.

"Your wish is my command," Lorithiel whispered, leaning down and giving a quiet kiss on Thellandria's forehead.

The druid's features melted into a warm, peaceful smile. A soft sigh escaped her lips, and the roots finally submerged her completely, taking her down below to rest eternally in the earth.

As Lorithiel mourned, a glow appeared on the ground before her. She blinked away her tears and peered at it curiously. Slowly, it rose from the earth and grew larger; as Lorithiel narrowed her eyes, trying to focus on it, she realized what it was.

Thellandria's spirit stood before her, smiling down at her. The ghost spoke no words, but Lorithiel felt warmth spread over her form, filling her with unbridled love. As she watched, another spirit—male, with antlers, white hair, and a faint scar line encircling his neck—appeared nearby. He walked forward, wrapping his arms around Thellandria and holding her tight. She embraced him as well, and they locked lips in a kiss.

The couple began drifting upward, slowly spinning around each other. As they rose higher and higher, their shapes started to shift; before long, they had transformed into wisps. Twinkling happily, they raced each other to the boughs of Nordrassil, then vanished into its leaves.

Lorithiel heard footsteps behind her; she glanced around to find Nahiri slowly approaching, shame and sorrow evident on her features.

"I am so sorry," she apologized. "This is all my fault. I've taken away what you worked so hard to achieve." Tears began to fall from her cheeks as well. "Please, I do not ask for your forgiveness, as I know I do no deserve it," she said, "but at least allow me to escort you back home. It is the least I can do to try to make up for my wrongs."

Lorithiel stared out over the rippling surface of the lake for some time, then shook her head. "I _do_ forgive you, Nahiri," she eventually replied. "Just as nature forgave my sister, I will forgive you. You meant well in your actions, and I appreciate your help immensely." She took a deep breath. ".. But I will not be needing an escort home."

Nahiri looked a bit bewildered for a moment. "Please, I feel that I must do something," she pleaded, then furrowed her brows in confusion as she watched her companion.

Lorithiel began to undress, pulling off her mithril and her boiled leather. She stepped over to the pile of armor nearby, then slowly began putting each piece on. "Thank you for the offer, but I will not be going home." She strapped the final shoulder pad into place.

Lorithiel knelt down, picking up the final remnant of the pile of her sister's belongings: the necklace—once orange, now black. It was completely devoid of the terrible powers it once held; now, it merely served as a reminder of what occurred in its presence. _A token of her triumph over evil_, Lorithiel thought to herself as she held it in her hand and stood up, turning to face Nahiri.

The draenei quirked a brow, watching the elven woman's actions with confusion. "Sister Shaderunner...?"

Taking a deep breath, Lorithiel clasped the jewelry around her neck. She closed her eyes, letting thoughts flow through her mind—memories of her childhood, of her adoptive parents, of her time with the Darkmoon Faire, of her recent adventures, of tonight's events; visions of her future, cheering her on, encouraging her to go through with the step that she was about to take. She knew, deep in her heart, that she was making the right decision as she parted her lips to respond.

"My name is Lorithiel Cinderpelt, and I will become a Druid of the Antler."

(( Thank you so much for reading! I hope you liked my story. :) Like I said, this is my first time, so reviews are really nifty! I doubt I'll be writing a sequel to this; the only reason I wrote this story in the first place is because I roleplay, and I wanted a way of transferring my druid (Thellandria) into a new, fresh character (Lorithiel). I needed to find a way of killing Thell off and replacing her with Lorithiel, and so.. here you have it! Thanks again, and take care! ))


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